


Sticky Sweet Serenade

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Investigating the Disappearance of Polly Cooper, Maple Princess Betty AU, Mystery, Riverdale Retold, Secret Relationship, future smut, lots and lots of maple syrup references and jokes, the fic in which i make most peoples lives miserable at the beginning and then slowly make it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: What runs through the veins of our sleepy little Riverdale? Nothing but maple syrup. And of course it’s the Cooper’s who hold that monopoly. But when heir Polly Cooper goes missing without a trace, her younger sister Betty turns to the only familiar face she can trust: Jughead Jones, Blue and Gold editor-in-chief and general outcast.-Or-What would the story of Riverdale be if Great Grandaddy Cooper beat out the Blossoms and they owned the maple syrup trade in Riverdale instead of the Blossoms?





	1. The Disappearance of Polly Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> -takes a deep breath- so I really wasn't going to post them until tomorrow but I got a lot of people asking me to do it today. And the finale of smoke and glitter was so small I figured this wouldn't be overwhelming. I really, really hope you guys enjoy this. It's something I've been working really hard on for nearly a month now and I think it might honestly be the best thing I've ever written. I haven't seen any AUs like this before so I really hope you all enjoy this.
> 
> Shoutouts: I'd like to thank my beta @lilibug--xx for coming with me on this wild ride. She's so fucking quick to catch my spelling mistakes but also keep me grounded on directions and support ideas I'm worried are gonna be bad but she knows will be good.
> 
> also @jinglejanglejones for loving this idea so thoroughly and screaming at me to do it, leaving really sweet comments on things she liked, and being the first person to see the unpolished fic and still liking it.
> 
> and then @queenofbabble for inspiring this idea because my best ideas come from when we're talking I swear it.
> 
> Okay so without further ado, i present to you: Sticky Sweet Serenade <3

**Childhood is simple** . Schoolyard fights on Kindergarten playgrounds are reserved for glue thieves and tattletales. The woes of adolescence have not yet permeated the strong barrier of optimism that chases away future implications of play time games like house or cops and robbers. Impending adulthood is a far off concept - a mindset that creates a world where fifth graders are the pinnacle of “grown up” and your mid-20s fresh out of college teacher might as well be a relic from ancient times when dinosaurs roamed freely and your parents listened to classics like Kiss and Nirvana. 

**Childhood is kind** . Imaginations aren’t stifled by such mundane concepts as reality when each day at recess there are endless realms to conquer. For five year old Betty Cooper, telling Miss Jennifer that she wanted to be the world’s first princess-journalist-veterinarian-baker was the easiest thing in the world. Her best friend Kevin Keller, the sheriff's son, was going to be a firefighter-police chief-model. The weight of her parent’s successful maple syrup business, Cooper Maple Industries, had not yet become a burden on her tiny heart. 

The Coopers were one of the founding families of the sleepy little upstate town we call Riverdale - the town with pep! Sticky sweet tree sap courses through our veins and their mansion, placed on the on the top of the tallest hill, proved that. A young girl like Betty had never known a life outside of luxury, where a pony was not beyond the realm of Christmas possibilities (even when her big sister Polly had one she didn’t like to play with).

**Childhood is ignorant** . When Betty found me, a scruffy mutt with broken crayons and a knit hat masquerading as a suit of armor, sitting alone during the lunch break she didn’t turn away from me like the other kids did, with her noses upturned to mimic the way their parents saw me. She hardly noticed the ragged clothes and worn down shoes. What caught her gaze was the pretty butterfly I had been coloring. She sat beside me in the dirt, seemingly oblivious when it stained her pretty pink dress and little white keds. There weren’t many colors on the page, splotches of blue and purple and red worn down into accidental pastels that I’d stolen from the communal supplies bucket. The wax was too firm to color properly, but I made do. A boy who lived in a double wide with his father, mother, and newborn baby sister always made do.

“I like your pictures,” she said gently. “How come you only use those colors?”

“I don’t have any others.”

Neither of us noticed the unsure glances the teachers on duty shot at us, wearily projecting their unconscious biases onto children who didn’t know any better. On a fundamental level, our entering beings contradicted. But they say that ignorance is bliss, and that which comes from childhood is no exception. The train tracks that severed our town were easily ignored by two little kids crawling over them to meet halfway.

“Can I have it?” Betty asked, pointing to the drawing. Miss Jennifer called us inside signaling the end of recess. The word “no” was a foreign concept to her, reserved only for when she threw her toys from the top of the stairs for the puppy to chase after.

“Nuh uh. It’s for my mommy. She’s sad.” Years later, when I would watch my mother close that bright yellow taxi door without a single glance back through teary eyes while my father held me tightly to stop me from thrashing, splintering our family (if we had ever even been that) into shards of hard to swallow glass, the word “sad” would feel like an inadequate choice of words. But for now the complexities of my father’s ever spiraling alcoholism and its repercussions were as elusive to me as the answer to a simple math equation and “sad” was the only thing I had to describe the way my mother’s eyes dulled whenever she turned to look at me, a mirror reflection of the man she had once loved and was now forced to watch crash and burn into ethanol flames. Betty had looked sad then too. Misplaced guilt wormed its way into my heart and I felt the uncontrollable need to see her smile. “But I’ll make you one tomorrow.”

The little girl was satisfied with my promise and ran quickly to join Kevin in line up with the rest of the class. Betty didn’t notice that when the other parents came to pick up their kids, mine were nowhere in sight. This wasn’t unusual. Most days I would sneak away from the teacher and walk home to Southside if I couldn’t catch a ride home with my dad’s business partner, Fred Andrews and his son Archie. 

That afternoon, Betty went right home and told her first white lie. “Mommy I lost my crayons. Can I have more for school?”

The familiar tune of, “Yes Elizabeth,” came from her father before the matriarch, Alice, even had a chance to answer. 

A new 100 pack of Crayolas was placed in her backpack that night by the perpetual Santa Claus of wealth. By the time she arrived at school the next morning, I was already sitting on the playground steps, drawing circles on the spare sheet of lined paper my mom had left on the coffee table. Betty presented the vibrant yellow box to me with a wide grin - an olive branch brought by the white dove of peace. I’ll never forget the way she looked: hair in a braided crown, a halo of hair circling her chubby cherub cheeks, front tooth missing and the poster child for innocence.

“For you. Now you can color gooder!”

I didn’t bother to ask how or why she had chosen me as the recipient of her generosity. In Kindergarten, crayons are the currency and she had just gifted me a solid gold bar. Glitter, metallic, shades of greens my eyes have never seen before, but none quite as pretty as I would have described hers to be. A wave of something difficult to place washed over me, followed quickly by gratitude. For reasons I can’t explain to this day, I leaned forward and kissed Betty Cooper on the cheek. She turned about as red as her sneakers. I ran off laughing before she could catch me.

The butterfly I gave her at lunch was far from the last gift she would get from me. Filled with a childish determination to use every color in that 100 piece rainbow set she’d given me, each day I ripped out another sheet from the small stack of coloring books tucked away under Miss Jennifer’s desk and presented it to her once the lines were neatly filled in. Satisfied with my offering, she would take them home to be locked up tightly along with whatever other ghosts haunted the expansive halls of the Cooper mansion: Thornhill.

Betty chased me throughout our playground years, but I was the one could never quite keep up. Catching on to her charisma, our fellows began to flock to her like moths to a flame. By fifth grade our relationship had crumbled like a fine sand, almost nonexistent except a few fleeting glances in the hallway where her gaze flickered with the vague remembrance all small town kids have with one another. For a girl like Betty, I was a blip on the radar. For a boy like me, she was a burning hot memory exemplifying some of the only kindness I would receive throughout any of my schoolboy years. 

**Childhood is fleeting.** Summer days and fall jubilees fade, giving way to the looming monster of puberty and all the pitfalls that accompany it. Acne flares, hormones rage, and the overwhelming pain of reality starts to set in. We were from two different worlds: a loner weirdo with a father coming undone at the seams and Riverdale’s own Miss Jr. Maple Princess four years running.

As both the Cooper girls grew, they each made the spotlight that was cast on them their own. Betty never strayed from center stage, drinking in the praise and adoration of her peers (and her ever critical mother). Captain of the Riverdale High’s cheer squad the River Vixens, straight A student, and hosting parties for Toni Morrison during her internship in New York City all by the tender age of 16: she was a spectacle to behold. Polly Cooper, the eldest daughter, chose to carve out her own path, straying from the carefully constructed ten year plan her mother had set her on from birth where the satisfaction and wealth of running a multibillion dollar company was the only thing waiting for her. Rebellion boiled in her veins and she was quickly pulled in by the siren song of backwoods parties and the mayor’s son: Jason Blossom.

There was no love lost between the Coopers and the Blossoms - a centuries old blood feud that likely had origins in something much more sinister than either clan would dare to let on. No one was more shocked (or appalled) than the Coopers when Clifford Blossom won title of mayor against running incumbent Sierra McCoy. But with the stock of the town resting almost solely in the maple trade, the dispute, at least publicly, was swept unceremoniously under the rug. Cheryl trained under Betty on the cheer squad (glowering from the sidelines but staying as silent as any demon of chaos could). Penelope and Alice had cordial tea outings every Sunday and Clifford was photographed giving Hal a key to the city for “aiding in the restoration and worthwhile contributions”. Polly and Jason were labeled the “it” couple of Riverdale, the stereotypical homecoming King and Queen. From the outside, everything seemed perfect.

But all hope for a peaceful life crumbled when Polly went missing in late July. And the immediate suspect? Of course that honor fell on Jason. The Blossoms didn’t take kindly to Sheriff Keller’s accusations against their son, declaring it a resurgence of the personal vendetta the Coopers harbored. Naturally he had been payed off to accuse the mayor’s son of murder. The questions came to an abrupt halt after that. Rumors without resolution flooded the halls, quickly stomped out by Jason, playing his part of the ever grieving lover duly well.

Calendar months passed by with no word on Polly’s disappearance. Summer sizzled out into fall; the missing person flyers peeling off of lamp posts, a mystery so easily forgotten by the masses, determined to go back to daily normalcy. The frequency of the Cooper’s telecast lessoned day by day until it was nothing but radio silence, ringing the one thing they’d said again and again:

“We refuse to give up hope. Please come home soon.”

The conditions were ripe for festering resentment. Our home seethed with anger and darkness. Lady Justice’s scales were thrown off balance, launching fair Riverdale into a withering mass of conspiratorial whispers and bolden lies. The once peaceful, slumbering hamlet became residence to armchair sleuths and divided party lines: those with the Coopers and those with the Blossoms.

With the livelihood of many hinging on peace, we welcomed in a new area of unrest in our sleepy little town.

\-----------

\------

\----

\--

-

Jughead stared down at the blinking cursor before him with a vague sense of displeasure. Words normally came so easy to him, but today even the biggest mystery in Riverdale history could not reignite the creativity within him. He grabbed his coffee, taking a drink before flipping the tab back to the article he was supposed to be editing for Friday’s paper.

_ Backwoods Necking: A Good Time or a Risky Ride? By Kevin Keller _

Normally it wouldn’t be his job to read Kevin’s gossip and advice column, but his other editor had come down with a nasty case of bronchitis and pawning it off on their only photographer, Dilton Doiley, seemed unusually cruel. The comfort of the Blue and Gold office was his prefered place to work, but the coffee in the lounge was free (hard to swallow, but free) and it was early enough he hoped to be spared Reggie and the rest of the football crew’s idiotic ramblings.

It wasn’t until halfway through the article that Jughead’s solitude was shattered. In came Veronica Lodge, newest addition to their ever growing cast of stereotypes. Previously a Park Avenue Princess, she had transferred in halfway through their freshman year, making fast friends with the high brow crowd (or as high brow as it could get in a town with a population under 20,000). She was an ice queen with a gradually thawing exterior and half of the iconic duo: B and V.

Surprising no one, Betty and Veronica took to each other like fish to water. From the second they’d shared a lab set in biology they were inseparable. When the news of Polly’s disappearance had hit mass media, it was Veronica who’d held the ravenous pack of wolves at bay from her grieving best friend. Maybe that was why it startled him when she entered alone, followed not by a pair of pretty pink painted lips, but instead by a horde of hormonal idiots in letterman jackets.

At the front of the charge was, naturally, Reginald Mantle. He’d been chasing skirts since third grade and only Veronica and Betty had the good sense to turn him down. Chuck Clayton,  son of the coach and regular dream boat, wasn’t far behind. Then, to Jughead’s surprise, he spotted a familiar patch of red hair that belonged to none other than Archibald Andrews. Archie had been his best friend since birth, forced apart by the education system and the powers that be. But maybe it was better that the teacher’s kept them out of the same class. Their permanent records still surely remembered the fourth grade toaster incident.

Archie wasn’t just the closed thing to a “best friend” he had ever known, but the closest thing to a stable familial relationship. It made no logical sense. Archie liked guitar solos and short skirts. Jughead liked dark poetry and bitter black coffee. But they worked, not just as friends, but as brothers.

The more he thought about it, the less surprising it was to see Archie running after Veronica like a love six puppy. He fell hard and fast for almost any girl who would give him the time of day. By the age of sixteen, he’d already been called a Casanova. Thing has been less than ideal between them lately, but he was still loyal, and probably the only reason Jughead didn’t find himself stuffed into a locker or a trash can every morning. Certainly it wasn’t thanks to the likes of captain Jason Blossom.

“Where’s your better half?” Jughead asked a somewhat startled Veronica.

She eyed him critically before answering. “Her mom had something to do this morning. And before you ask, no, I don’t know what it is or if it has to do with their missing daughter. So whatever manifesto you’re writing about my girl’s family, leave her and me out of it. She’s been through enough.”

“Yeah Jones, learn some boundaries,” Reggie shot out, glaring at the beanie wearing boy.

Unable to stop himself, Jughead rolled his eyes. “That’s really rich coming from you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Donnie Darko?”

Unbothered, he took another drink of coffee, eyes never backing down from Reggie’s intense (albeit empty) gaze. “It means exactly what is sounds like.”

Before the situation could escalate well past its boiling point and into a scuffle not even golden retriever Andrews could keep from causing mayhem, in walked the Queen Bee, Betty Cooper. Her hair was pulled back tightly into her signature ponytail, pink scrunchie matching her cardigan. Their eyes met briefly. There it was: the familiar tingle of recollection. For a moment, Jughead thought she might even say something to him. But all too quickly that hope was dashed as Veronica moved to stand beside her best friend.

“It reeks of testosterone in here. The boys are having a pissing contest again.”

“That’s what happens when you let the street rats play with the real boys,” Cheryl, Lady of Chaos herself, remarked from her break room red throne. She shot him a disgusted look. “Why don’t you go hide in your office, Goblin?”

With just a single phrase, she could turn a room to scorching fire. No one dared to terminally piss off the mayor’s daughter. No one but Jughead at least. Sunnyside Trailer Park was already a prime target for the Blossom wrath, and thus the gang of Serpents, a group of motorcycle enthusiasts his father chose to spend his time with, who lived there. A little antagonization was not going to change her already inbred hatred for the Joneses and all those like them.

Jughead noticed the seat beside her, reserved exclusively for her brother, was empty. It was strange to see Cheryl without her partner in crime. To call her and Jason siamese twins would not have been entirely out of the realm of possibilities. Age had not made them any more separable. That was no doubt as to why she had always held an animosity towards Polly, the woman who stole valuable hours away from her and her favorite person alive: the mirror image of herself. Vanity thy name was Cheryl Blossom.

Before Jughead had a chance to retort, Betty came (surprisingly) to his defense. “Coming from a witch like you, Cheryl? Please.”

“I didn’t realize  _ Son’s of Anarchy _ mattered to you, Maple Bitch. Decide to slum it with him because Archie’s been chasing Veronica around instead of you?”

It was no secret that Betty harbored feelings for the football star and typical small town heart throb Archie Andrews. Her family had hired his dad for a few projects here and there, and ever since they’d first met in the snow covered maple fields she had been smitten for him. In a misguided effort to protect her feelings, he had never outright rejected her advances, choosing instead to dip and swerve and even lie his way out of dates. ( _ “ _ Seriously Arch, how many dentist appointments could someone have? You aren’t fooling her anymore.”)

Judging by Reggie’s excited expression, the cat fight was officially in full swing. This had been the state of the union for the past few months; Betty and Cheryl taking swings at each other wherever they crossed paths, including the chemistry lab, leaving one especially hostile teacher so angry, they’d each been presented with a week’s worth of after school detentions to be served in separate rooms.

“B, she’s not worth it,” Veronica tried to reason with her best friend, but Betty’s buttons had successfully been pushed. 

“Jughead Jones? Don’t be an idiot. You know you’re the only one classless enough to stoop that low.” Betty rolled her eyes.

On some days, being invisible had its advantages. Today was not one of them. It wasn’t as if he had delusioned himself into thinking he mattered at this school. No, for him to even exist in their hemisphere of wealth was an inconvenience to the social elist game they took pride in practicing, a mirror image of the song their parent’s danced to. Riverdale High was just a training ground. But there was still a part of him, a very unreasonable part buried deep down under layers of uncaring bravado, that hoped maybe Betty would look at him one day the same she had on the playground after he’d presented that first butterfly drawing to her: with something resembling affection.

Realistically, he knew silly fantasies like that were useless. They had been lab partners last year and in a moment so mortifying he hadn’t bothered to correct her, she had reintroduced herself with that all too pleasant patented Cooper cheer and a smile that was uncanny valley in it’s kindness.

“Trailer trash isn’t my type, Elizabeth. But I heard it was Polly’s. After Jay-Jay broke up with her the first time, you know, before she came crawling back on her hands and knees, she did a few swings around the trailer park. Maybe she opened her legs a little too far and ended up with a mini Cooper. I bet Daddy dearest was devastated when he heard about that. So devastated he tossed her into the river to drown.”

Had Jughead not been watching the scene unfold closely, he might have missed the microscope movements Betty displayed. Her fists curled into tight balls and, for a moment, the entire room feared she might lash out. 

One. 

Two. 

Three.

It passed, Betty taking a step back and shaking her head. “I know this is hard for you and Jason too. Maybe you should try and remember that before you start insulting someone your brother said he loved. My dad, both my parents, loved Polly. You’re crazy if you think they could ever hurt her.” Even in the face of adversity, her commitment to being terminally delightful was commendable.

Archie and Veronica grabbed her and quickly escorted her from the room before tensions could rise any higher. In the aftermath of the fued, Jughead snuck out himself, deciding the safety of the Blue and Gold office was far better than any crappy common room coffee. Reggie and the others had been too preoccupied with cat fight fantasies to bother coming after him for his weekly morning beating. Afraid of running into anymore other unwanted drama, he moved deftly through the hallways, ignoring the world the same way it ignored him.

Neon flyers littered the lockers, shouting in bold scripts to sign up for the winter formal and reminding them student council elections weren’t far away. A faux “average high school experience” had never really appealed to him. Being a loner was a badge Jughead wore with pride. He didn’t need validation from a hyper aggressive group of elitist snobs. One day he’d get out of this place forever, sell his book, and seclude himself in the wilderness like a transcendentalist poet. 

The doors not far away slammed shut and Jughead dipped his head down to avoid meeting the gaze of the water polo team, lead by the ever present Jason. His efforts were all in vain. Before he could blink, he felt his upper body collide with the hard metal.

“Watch where you’re going trailer trash,” one of the letterman clad brutes so artfully articulated. “Or else you’ll end up inside the locker.”

The bullying wasn’t uncommon (there was a reason Jughead had developed a mild case of claustrophobia during his freshman year), but now it was becoming less and less creative. He took no shame in having lived in a trailer park. It was better than his accomodations now, if nothing else. A roof, running water, and a bed to sleep on: had it not been for the rampant stench of beer and whiskey he might have stayed until graduation.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Jughead Jones,” the redhead remarked, looking him up and down with a mixture of bemusement and pity. It was a combination not foreign, but one that made his stomach roll nevertheless. Who were they to judge him so harshly when they didn’t know a damn thing? “Still wearing that stupid crown like you’re some sort of prince?”

He knew better than to provoke them, but no one ever accused the Joneses of being particularly good at holding their tongues. “I don’t know, still wearing your ass like a hat?”

Jason threw him into the lockers again. When his face hit metal, he felt the painful sting of his eyebrow splitting open. Warm blood gushed from the wound, dripping down his forehead and blurring the vision in his right eye. 

“What the fuck, asshole? I’m bleeding!” He bunched up the flannel of his shirt, pressing it against his head in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding before his next nickname was Carrie (though the telekinetic powers sounded really good right now).

“Don’t say shit if you don’t want to get hit, dumbass.” Jason grabbed his collar and tossed him back again. Students quickly fled the scene, running off to go fuel the rumor mill. “It’s time you remember something: you don’t belong here. You never have and you never will. So keep your head down and stop pissing me off.” And then he left, leaving Jughead bleeding, broken, and tired, in his wake.

_ You don’t belong here. _

It was true. He didn’t belong here, in a school where he not only fit far outside the status quo, but reveled in that seclusion not because he liked being lonely, but because it was the only defense mechanism he had ever known. But then where did he belong? 

He didn’t belong at Southside High, where the assumption of taking up his father’s Serpent mantle chased him in circles until his head was spinning and his heart ached. His father’s trailer wasn’t where he belonged, FP had made that very clear a few weeks ago when he’d stumbled home in a drunken stupor and nearly smashed the only thing of value Jughead had to his name. He didn’t belong on Archie’s floor, where Fred had graciously let him sleep for a few weeks under the guise of an extended sleepover so FP could “cool off”. He hadn’t belonged in Kindergarten when Betty had been the only person who cared enough to speak to him, or in middle school where she’d pushed him away for good after he’d, against his better judgement, snuck an anonymous Valentine’s Day card into her locker.

_ We just don’t belong together, Juggie. We just don’t make sense as friends. _

Jughead pulled himself together, wiping the blood out of his eyes again. There was a first aid kit in the Blue and Gold office he could use to bandage up the cut and keep the blood out of his eyes for the rest of the day. No one met his gaze as he quickened his pace. For fear of retribution the world just simply ignored his suffering.

Despite his single minded determination, the ajar classroom door peaked his curiosity. There weren’t many students who would be holding a pow wow like this twenty minutes before classes started and the faculty stayed safely tucked away in their lounge to avoid the petty drama that always accompanied high school hormones. The closer he got, the more familiar the voices became. Clearer and clearer still, until he could make out the distinct tones of Riverdale’s blossoming and currently infamous love triangle: Archie, Betty, and Veronica.

“You can’t let her get to you like that, Betty! She’s purposefully trying to get you angry so you’ll say something stupid.”

“Well it’s working! Every time she mentions Polly my skin crawls. She shouldn’t even be allowed to say her name. And then she goes and accuses my dad of playing a part in her disappearance! It’s absurd! And I know Jason had something to do with it. I know it,” her voice teetered on hysteria. “My parents think she’s dead. They won’t tell anyone because we’ve got this stupid image to uphold. But she’s not. She can’t be. We don’t have a body yet, so we can’t know. But every time I ask a question I get shut out; by the sheriff, by Jason, by my parents! They won’t even talk about Polly anymore. It’s like she never even existed to them until we’re on camera begging her to come home again. It’s a farce and it’s exhausting!”

Archie softened his voice, attempting to comfort her. “I’m sure it’s not like that. They’re probably just grieving in a really messed up way. Your parents have never been good with emotions. Like that time in middle school when you broke your foot and your dad just kept talking about the only time he’d ever played basketball.”

“It’s not an emotional stunting that’s got them acting like this! They’re hiding something  — something about Polly. It’s like when I’m around there’s nothing but hushed whispers and they’re suddenly walking on eggshells. You guys have to believe me. I’m not crazy. Something’s going on and I need to figure out what.”

“I don’t kno — ”

“Fine. Fine okay,” Veronica’s tone was frustrated but resigned. “If you’re so determined to go on a hunt for your missing sister I know where to point you. Jughead’s been asking a lot of questions about Polly, to pretty much anyone and everyone willing to listen. Kevin told me he hangs around the police station sometimes just to check on new information. He’s even writing some true crime, murder mystery novel about it. Nerdy and morbid, but potentially helpful to you.”

There was a pause as she processed this information. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I’m not sure Jughead would really be open to helping me.”

“It’s your only lead, Nancy Drew. It’s up to you if you’re going to follow through with it. But you aren’t going at this alone, V. If he turns you down I’ll march in there myself and have a very strong worded conversation.”

“Come on guys, Jug’s a little weird but he’s a nice guy,” Archie, ever the loyal lapdog, tried in vain to defend his honor. “If you tell him what’s happening I know he’ll help. He acts up that moral gray thing but he’s got a good soul.”

Betty’s voice softened. “Thank you Arch. And you too, V. I don’t know what I would do without you guys. I promise, I’ll think about asking Jughead.”

Content with what he had heard (and trying his best not to be jealous of Archie), Jughead quickly made his way to the Blue and Gold. This room was his safe space, had been his home away from home until the away part went missing. It was his baby, his pride and joy since freshman year when he’d begged Principal Weatherbee to let him re-establish the paper on campus. When the world had punished him and there was nowhere left to go, this little corner of paradise had been hollowed out just for him. 

From an outside perspective it just looked like a well worn room. He was good at covering his tracks, good at hiding his blankets in a locked box under his editor-in-chief desk. The microwave was for his writers who needed an extra snack, not for him so he could eat late at night. When the janitors found him asleep at three in the morning, it wasn’t for any other reason than he’d gotten tired while editing and took longer of a nap than he’d meant to on the old sofa. No one needed to know about the secrets he held close to his heart. Not that there was anyone to share them with.

Jughead looked around the room and shook himself loose. “Alright Betty Cooper. If you want to dance, let’s do this.”


	2. A Peace Offering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to every single person who has supported this fic. I was nervous because I know it's a bit of a different concept but the fact that you guys like it and are willing to give bitchy betty a chance makes me so happy! I also want to give another massive thank you to my beta @lilibug--xx. I am so blessed to have a beta who believes and loves this story as much as I do.
> 
> The angst isn't quite over yet. But in this chapter we get the kick off of a lot more bughead! Still some sadness and angst with Juggie but I hope you'll forgive me for torturing our son <3
> 
> Also just as an fyi: I promise Betty's character arc is going to be really interesting. She's gonna start growing and changing soon!

Everyone has that one memory that lingers too close to the surface of their mind, threatening to fill them with a poisonous cocktail of existential dread and the same second hand embarrassment one gets when watching a clip from a Nicolas Cage movie. ( _ Wickerman, _ not  _ National Treasure, _ era Nicolas Cage, though I would argue the ineptitude of both films.) There’s something in the human condition that makes us both repulsed and fascinated by this pain  — ours and others. 

Pain looks better on other people. The Germans call this phenomenon “schadenfreude”, translating roughly to “ the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of or witnessing the troubles, failures, or humiliation of another”. No doubt this accounts, at least combined with a myriad of other psychological and self confidence issues, for most of the reason we purposefully bully, mock, and embarrass one another. We amuse ourselves and our peers with this torment. For the middle to high school youth, we hope to gain something from this: usually a boost to our rank in the social hemisphere. By pushing another kid down, we use their crushed spirit as a stepping stone to bigger and better things. At least hopefully.

I wonder sometimes what causes us to relive our own painful memories. There’s no joy in watching yourself fall down the same flight of stairs again and again like the Blu-Ray in your brain is playing a scratched disk. Memories like that wait, dormant, until you can use them during a game of Never Have I Ever at a Cheryl Blossom party. Or during math class when algebra gets too boring and tree outside is too much like the one you sat under to kiss Ethel Muggs back when she still had braces and you cut your tongue on one of the metal brackets. (Anecdotes from Archie’s life, not mine.)

Most of these memories, for me at least, take place in middle school, when my family’s downward spiral took a turn for the worse and we barely had money for rent and food let alone whatever fashion my fellow seventh graders deemed popular at the time. Anything left over from my mother’s second job went straight into FP Jones’ alcohol fund. Out of necessity and self preservation, I did my best to become invisible. By high school, I became adept at fading so far into the background the bullies couldn’t spot me. People can’t hurt you when you wear the things they mock you for as a suit of armor.

But even back then, Betty Cooper owned a part of my life I had little control over. I would watch her in the halls whenever we crossed paths, nostalgic over the days she could look me in the eyes and grace me with her award winning smile. Sometimes I still expected her to jump between me and Reggie, scolding him for pushing me to the ground before helping me up and dragging me off to go play house. Instead, when prompted by her peers, she joined in on the torment.

“What are you the prince of, Jug? Beer bottles?” she asked as Reggie threw my hat on the top of the lockers, far out of my reach.

By seventh grade I had resigned myself to this embarrassment. There wasn’t a day that went by without someone cornoring me in the hallway and tearing down my fragile middle school ego. Most days I would do my best to avoid her, but every now and again I’d catch the bounce of her signature ponytail in my peripheral vision and feel my heart break all over again.

At the root of my personal hell memory, the one that replays at any given hour just to cause me misery and keep me up at night, is that of a pretty blonde girl and an empty box of chocolates it had taken me weeks to toss out with the words  _ Happy Valentine’s Day _ written on it in printed white cursive.

Holidays are a sham. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter: all a corporate synthetic interpretation of a day that’s supposed to be meaningful; fake well wishes in the form of empty cards and poorly wrapped boxes. Factories pumps out impersonal messages in mass, and we devour them whole so Aunt Irma can win the silent competition for favorite relative by slapping a twenty dollar bill inside a piece of folded cardstock masquerading as a Disney princess card, and the CEOs can get fatter while barely paying their factory workers minimum wage. Everything from New Years to Saint Patrick’s Day is a farce.

Valentine’s Day is the worst, without exception. The chocolates are always bitter and the people are always fake. The stores are overflowing with pre-packaged “I love you’s” and candy hearts that taste like cough syrup and chalk dust. You can’t turn around without coming face to face with an overstuffed bear holding a heart or a saleswoman trying to sell the newest pink bottled gendered perfume. Valentine’s Day is a mockery of what true love is supposed to be  — not that I’m sure I even believe in fairytale happy endings, at least for myself.

In seventh grade, the student council decided to sell single roses right outside the cafeteria, along with cut out pink and red cards to raise money for something that was never properly disclosed. When I first heard about it, I rolled my eyes and wrote it off as another money making scheme  — which it technically was. I normally stayed far away from the group, full of people who hated me on the principle that it would make them more popular. Archie, by pure luck, had become student council treasurer and had the proud honor of being stationed at the table on February 13th, begging passerbys to purchase the last of his overpriced goods.

“Jug!” he shouted as I walked by, purposefully projecting his voice louder than necessary so I couldn’t walk a little faster in a vain attempt to ignore him. No one could really ignore Archie Andrews.

“What’s up, Arch?”

He held up the flower proudly. “How about buying one of these from me to say thanks for letting you crash on my couch last night?”

“Well, first it’s not your couch, it’s your dad’s and he said I can be there whenever I want, so we’ll call it a wash. Second, who am I buying a rose for? Vegas? The math teacher? No thanks.”

“Come on, man!” he begged. “Please. I need to get rid of these so Valerie will think I’m cool.”

Valerie was Archie’s flavor of the week: choir girl and Vice President of student council. This wouldn’t have been the first time I’d done something against my moral code to help him impress a girl  — though nothing would ever be quite as epic as the incident in third grade where I’d gotten detention for putting gum in a girl’s hair just so he could show her that peanut butter got it out.

I was about to turn away, scoff at him and deal with whatever retribution would come from snuffing my friend, when the rose reminded me of something: a messy, hand drawn flower garden gifted by a scruffy little boy to the prettiest girl in all of kindergarten. The loud, echoing voice of rationality screamed in my head to just laugh it off and leave before I embarrassed myself. He wouldn’t be mad any longer than a few days if I just ignored him. But something smaller  — likely the middle school hormones  —  whispered a hastily constructed plan to get a girl’s attention.

“You know what? Yeah I’ll buy one.” 

I dropped the cash I’d been planning to use for lunch in his palm, content with filching something from his lunch box as retribution later, and took the rose from the waiting plastic vase. (I couldn’t be convinced to buy one of the cards.) He thanked me more times than I could count and scrawled out one of those flimsy yellow receipts from the blue plastic teacher’s book. Thankfully, he didn’t ask what my plans were for it. I don’t think he even cared. What preoccupied his mind was the promise of a kiss from a pretty girl.

Early the next morning, I snuck into the school, slipping the stem of the rose through the slit of Betty Cooper’s locker. With a piece of pink ribbon left over from my younger sister’s art project, I tied a poem onto it. Mercifully, my brain has purged whatever I wrote down on that paper. A poet, I am not.

For the rest of the day I waited anxiously, ignoring the weight in my stomach whenever I swallowed. When hours passed without word or even glance from Betty, I resigned myself to the thing I’d been suspecting all along: silent rejection. At least it was better than the semi-public biweekly assault from Jason and friends.

My parents weren’t there when I arrived home. There was a letter from my mom saying she’d dropped Jellybean off at a friend’s for the night, and would be spending the weekend somewhere else. My dad hadn’t left anything to say goodbye except for the stench of alcohol and leather that permeated the walls of our trailer, clinging to the old cloth couch. Being alone has never really bothered me; I know I can trust myself, it’s the rest of the world where my faith falls through.

Not long after I scrounged up a plan for dinner, there was a knock at the door. No one really came by the trailer except Serpents and the occasional debt collector. Nothing for me to worry about. I ignored it. But whoever was out there, was persistent. They knocked again. And again. Until finally I heard a soft, familiar voice shout, “Jughead! It’s me, please open the door.”

Betty sounded distressed, but I was more shocked she remembered where I lived. She had only been here once, in kindergarten, when she had begged her parents to give me a ride home as they drove past me walking alone on the side of the only highway in Riverdale, and even then Alice and Hal Cooper had not let her out of the car.

“Betty?” I asked opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

My heart sank when I saw what was clutched in her hand: the pretty red rose plucked free of it’s thorns with the pink ribbon still tied around its neck. Her eyes were downcast, refusing to meet mine.

“Why did you give this to me?”

“I don’t — ”

“Jughead... why?”

Suddenly, whatever she was looking at on my front porch steps had become fascinating. “Because I like you, Betty. I have since kindergarten. And I know it’s stupid. Trust me, I do. I’ve been purposefully trying to avoid it. I know we’re from completely different hemispheres but I just wanted you to know that I was still thinking about you. A lot.”

“I won’t keep it,” She said after a pause. Her voice shook and she stumbled over her words. “You’re right.  We just don’t belong together, Juggie. We just don’t make sense as friends. It would be better if we just forgot about Kindergarten. No one else remembers it. You... you’re the weirdo and I can’t... mom wants me to win Jr. Maple Princess again. If people find out you gave that to me, I won’t. I’m sorry.”

Betty pulled out a small red box of chocolate from her bag and thrust it into my hands with the rose. “Goodbye.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek just like she had when I’d presented her with that stupid little butterfly. But this time she didn’t stay; she ran off to where her driver’s care was parked and jumped in.

She didn’t bother looking back.

///////////////

//////

///

/

The Blue and Gold office was empty this morning, barren except for a certain beanie wearing boy who hardly ever left. Jughead typed away quickly on his novel and did his best to ignore the nagging pressure on his mind. Whatever articles needed to be edited before friday were finished  — a miracle considering his argument with Kevin, in which he’d threatened to walk out if Jughead didn’t allow him to keep the word “necking” in the title. This was why he never worked with theatre kids. 

Most of the school was quiet this early. Except for the gymnasium, currently occupied by Betty’s River Vixens for their early morning practice, playing whatever Top 40 thematic pop song they’d picked to shake their asses to this week. Tonight was the homecoming game and they had to be in tip top shape. At least that’s what he kept hearing Captain Cooper shout (almost always followed by agitated muttering from her squad).

At any moment, he expected her to burst through his doors, demanding a copy of his work so she could piece together whatever mess her family had gotten itself into in regards to Polly’s disappearance. Too bad for her his help wouldn’t come that easily. After years of constant humiliation  —  and the seventh grade folly burned forever into his mind  — Betty was going to have to grovel. Normally Jughead wouldn’t classify himself as a sadist (or maybe he would  — but that was only after a long night of deep web exploration into the kink side of tumblr), but the thought of her on her hands and knees groveling  _ was _ a pretty picture. Nothing wrong with being a little petty.

He turned back to his writing, trying to focus on that, rather than the screams and cheers coming just a few doors down from him. Whatever idiot (him) had agreed to set up the office this close to where the sports people practiced deserved to be burned. He had half a mind to walk down there and bang on something until they stopped shouting, but, technically, he was not allowed to be on school property this early. The Blue and Gold meetings were usually scheduled for after school hours when the other “clubs” on campus met. The janitor never really minded seeing him around though. After all, it was from him that Jug procured an extra set of keys. If anyone had a problem with him, it was Weatherbee. More than a few times he had threatened to kick Jughead off the paper if he caught him sleeping in the office again. Jughead took that to mean it was time to get sneakier.

Even so, he didn’t dare to venture too far outside his safe haven. If he was caught, that would mean moving back in at the drive-in. It had been a nice temporary fix, but that bandaid had termites and no plumbing. At least at Riverdale High, Jughead knew he was guaranteed a warm shower in the morning. The Twilight Drive-In had not afforded him such luxuries.

The clock ticked loudly, minute by minute until he heard the last cacophonous shout from the cheerleaders as they scattered to their lockers to freshen up before class. It was standard practice to wear their cute little uniforms during school on game days  — not that Jughead was looking at the way it bounced whenever Betty took a step, exposing the bottoms of her little white spanks.

He stood and grabbed another cup of coffee to calm his racing thoughts. Betty Cooper should really be the last of his worries today. Of course she had a lot to do with his work, but that didn’t mean every second should be left to dwelling on the way she walked or talked or how she bit her pencil in class when she was nervous  — chewing on the little pink eraser bud until it disintegrated into nothingness. 

The coffee was almost cold now, and bitter on his tongue. Jughead hissed out his frustrations. No place to get better coffee this early in the morning but at Pop’s. As much as it sounded like a good idea, he couldn’t afford the gas, not until his paycheck came on Tuesday. That was the life of a homeless teenager, a vagabond living day to day and praying nothing went too wrong. Last week, when the engine on his bike cut out, he’d been $100 short for the rest of the month, making his already meager diet much worse: ramen cups and pizza for weeks. When was the last time he’d eaten a piece of fruit? At this rate he was going to wind up the first sixteen year old since the 19th century to get scurvy.

Jughead sat back down at his desk. The office chair shot him backwards but he caught his foot on the metal and pulled himself back in. A file folder slipped off the desk from his movements. Upon picking it up, he grimaced. Weatherbee had sent the paper a request to start doing a weekly teacher appreciation column. The first up: Principle “effective immediately” himself. A faculty spotlight wasn’t the worst idea in the world. But, it would take a certain type of person to be able to write the article well. He didn’t want them kissing ass in hopes of a better grade, so Dilton was immediately out of the picture. Kevin would probably get  _ too _ personal for their liking so he was out too. Worst comes to worst, the responsibility would fall on him but filler fluff pieces for the satisfaction of school authority wasn’t his usual type of writing.

Tomorrow. He could worry about that disaster tomorrow, when the exec board would sit around and give their pitches. If there was a contributor interested in an easy article then all the better for them and the community editor. Poor Ethel.

There was a knock at his door, but before Jughead could invite them in, he watched with wide eyes as Betty Cooper, still dressed in her cheer uniform and holding her head high, stepped into his sacred realm. Her eyes scanned the room for any other sign of human life besides himself. Once she’d confirmed they were alone, she closed the door, locked it, and relaxed her shoulders.

“Well well, Betty, to what do I owe the honors of you gracing me with your heavenly presence?”

She rolled her eyes. “Careful, Jones. I’m not here to fight you. And if I was there would be a hundred things to point out that you’re doing wrong. For starters it smells like pizza rolls in here and that grease can’t be good for the newspaper or the ink. Also your last feature had a typo in it so that’s another strike.”

“I thought you said you weren’t here to fight me. If you are, just file a complaint and put it in the complaint box.” He pointed over his shoulder to the trash can near the back, labeled ‘complaint box’ after Kevin had suggested implementing one.

“You don’t have to be so hostile. I’m just trying to be nice and give you a few suggestions to make things better.”

Jughead blinked and sighed. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m misremembering, but was it, or was it not, just yesterday when you called me trailer trash and insinuated Cheryl Blossom would be the only one with low enough standards to sleep with me. Sorry if I’m not too inclined to listen to your ‘suggestions’.”

Betty stomped her foot in frustrated and he watched her fists curl tight just like they’d done in the lounge. Whatever it was she was doing seemed to calm her nerves. She took a deep breath and continued. “Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry about that and I’m sorry about yesterday. But I — ”

“Just sorry about yesterday? There are a lot of days to make up for, Cooper. Not sure if just yesterday is going to cut it, but continue.”

She inhaled again, jaw clenched. “I need your help. I heard from Veronica and Archie that you were writing about Polly’s disappearance. I want whatever information you have.”

Of course she did. Ever since stumbling upon their conversation, Jughead knew it was just a matter of time before Betty showed up here. It was tempting to say no, but he wasn’t stupid. The more heads on this case the better, and she had access to things he didn’t. She could get into the Copper cellar, the records, even the heads of her parents. It wasn’t a crime he cared much about solving; it was how it affected the town that interested him the most. But without a culprit, this could never really be laid to rest, and his world  — his town  — would continue to spiral into darkness.

And maybe he was going to enjoy fucking with Betty a little.

“First of all,” he held up a finger, spinning in his chair. “That’s not how you ask someone for a favor. I don’t know if they forgot about etiquette in the Cooper household, but down here with the mere mortals we say please. Second, I’m not about to hand you my novel and send you off with it. I’ll let you read it, give you a copy of it, but I want a promise that it’s not just you running off with what I found. Finally, I get something in return.”

“I had a feeling you might act like that. I agree to your terms. The book is yours, not that I’d want it anyway. I’ll collaborate, not dictate, and you get something in return.” Betty nodded and pulled out a giant box of chocolates from her school bag. She set it on his desk, waiting patiently for his approval. 

Jughead’s stomach did somersaults as he was transported back to that painful Valentine’s Day in seventh grade. For a week after that he hadn’t been able to eat chocolate. The box lay by his beside unopened, until one night when the fridge was empty and the hunger got the best of him. Even then it had tasted bitter.

He still had nightmares about Betty walking away; the way she had looked so cold and uncaring, so different from the little girl he’d practically fallen in love with in kindergarten. But that was part of growing up. People got bitter like coffee and old chocolates, and heartbreak was inevitable. If you put others up on a pedestal, they were destined to knock themselves down.

At least the box was nice. They were imported from Germany, with a label he couldn’t quite pronounce. All of them had a sweet maple flavored center  — cute and very Cooper-esque. Opening the red velvet box, he noted each one was stamped with a cursive C. Expensive, imported, initialized, maple chocolates. It simply could not get any more Riverdale than that.

“Good start,” he shook the nagging thoughts from his head. This was not about all those years ago. This was about today and now. He had a lead on his novel he could chase with Betty  — inside knowledge into the Cooper family home. “But I’m going to need something else from you too.”

Betty’s eyes went wide, taken aback. “I’m sorry and why is that?”

“Test your loyalties. You do something for me and I give you the book and everything else I know about your sister going missing. That’s the deal. You either take it or you walk out of here with your tail between your legs. And I get the feeling Betty Cooper doesn’t really like losing.”

For a moment, Jughead thought she might grab her bag and slap him. Her eyes drifted back towards the door before she pulled out the seat across from him. Immediately, her attitude shifted. Before him sat the no-nonsense student council president, ready to hear his demands and negotiate.

“Alright, I’m here. Waiting and willing, Jughead Jones. Hit me with it.”

He remembered the article Weatherbee had assigned. She might just be the perfect girl for the job. Everyone knew her, adored her even, especially the faculty. She had writing experience. And, most importantly, that meant he wouldn’t have to be the one to write it. “I want you to write for the paper.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to  _ what _ ?”

“Write for my paper. Come and work for The Blue and Gold. I know you were hosting parties for Toni Morrison over summer vacation so you know how to write and you can do it well. You can keep deadlines, you’re smart, and, honestly, you’re way more organized than anybody else here.”

Betty folded her arms and raised an eyebrow and gestured to the mess that had consumed his entire editor’s desk. “Coming from you?”

“Methods to my madness, Cooper. So what do you say? You write for me and I get you the keys to the kingdom and whatever other help I can offer in solving your sister’s disappearance.”

Jughead could see the wheels turning in her head as she bit down on her plush bottom lip. There was stigma in writing for the paper; this was the realm for nerds and geeks with a little too much time on their hands. These weren’t the kinds of people she normally associated with. Kevin was the only exception he could think of, but that was mostly because of his High School Glow-Up and his status of being the only openly out guy in all of Riverdale. 

It wasn’t just getting rid of a problem article that brought him to this. Truthfully, they needed more contributors or the paper was going to crash and burn. Occasionally he could get Archie to write for him, but those were only music or sports related and had to be heavily edited. Having Betty Cooper, the actual Queen of Riverdale High, work for him  — well papers would be flying off the stacks before he could even blink, even if it was just because of her name. Desperate times and desperate  _ blah blah blah _ .

“Okay,” Betty sat back, resigned. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll come write for your paper because you’re going to help me figure out what’s happening with Polly. Deal.”

“Perfect. I need your article by Friday.” He picked up the file Weatherbee had given him and handed it to her. “You’ll be spending some quality time with our Principal. Hope you don’t mind.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, standing at the sound of the school bell. “Aye-aye Captain Jones. Any other part of my soul I can sell you?”

“I think I’m good. See you in class, Betty.”

On her way out the door, she paused. “I... didn’t know we had class together.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course you didn’t.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. No one really remembered when they had class with Jughead Jones. He was the weirdo, the self proclaimed outcast. He pushed people away with a purpose and sat stuffed in the back corner of the class so no one could see him or his insecurities. “Forget I said anything. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Polly and I hope we find her.”

Even though his sister lived hundreds of miles away in Ohio with a mother he hadn’t talked to in years, the thought of her just suddenly vanishing was enough to break his heart all over again. He wasn’t sure how close Polly and Betty really were. Whatever fake stepford family mask the Coopers put on was likely far from the truth, but on television and at Town all they were thick as thieves  — the best of friends. What went on behind closed doors was a mystery (one he would soon be getting a closer look at), but given how heartbroken she seemed, there probably wasn’t any bad blood between them.

“We don’t need to hope, Jug, because we will.  _ I will _ . She’s going to come back home really soon. I don’t care that no one believes me, because I know it’ll happen.”

And then she left, turning her back on him again. Only this time, he knew she would  come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to update once a week every friday. I'm about a chapter ahead so hopefully it'll be easy for me!
> 
> Next: Chapter 3: Cherry Stem Web
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b (and maybe checkout @buggiebreak! something i helped put together that's a fandom event!)


	3. Cherry Stem Web

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you! to everyone who's reading this! it means the world to me because this might be the fic I love writing most out of anything! I update every Friday, but it's 9PM PST for it's mostly friday now right? Right. We're gonna get more and more betts and juggie I promise. This chapter is where things really start to take off!
> 
> As always, i love my beta @lilibug--xx because she is amazing for keeping my head on straight and guiding me in great directions while also catching all the spelling mistakes I have! She's a rockstar truly and absolutely <3

_ Clear Skies with Weatherbee? _

_ by Betty Cooper _

_ I’m sure we’ve all had the pleasure of meeting of the Principal, whether it be hearing his chipper voice coming through the loudspeakers on morning announcements or passing by him in the hallway on the way to class. Hard to believe it, but Weatherbee has been a part of the Riverdale High Faculty for just under twenty years. He began his work as a bright-eyed English Teacher in 1999. In 2008, he was promoted to dean of students, and only a few months later Principal. _

_ Despite how long he’s been here, not much is known about Principal Weatherbee, even among the rest of the faculty. He keeps much of his private life a mystery. But in an interview, he opened up just a little bit more about how he spends his off duty hours. _

_ “I play Tennis,” Weatherbee said. “It’s always been a passion of mine. I used to play it when I was just a kid and I got really good at it too. Before I became principal I used to coach the girl’s team here.” _

_ In the display case outside the gym, there’s numerous trophies dedicated to the team during his years as a coach. No doubt he was as good of a coach as he is mentor to all the students. _

_ However, serves on the tennis court aren’t the only things he’s good at being underhanded with. After diving further in, shady business deals have been discovered  _ — _ and not just the under the bleachers drug deals that he lets students from high income families get away with. Financial records from October indicate a significant payout making its way into Riverdale’s annual athletics budget. By itself this isn’t too strange, but upon finding only half of this so called “generous donation” went to the students, you start to wonder where the rest of it went. _

_ Following the trail leads straight to Weatherbee. But why would a man so dedicated to helping young mind’s prosper steal from the very school he claims to adore? He didn’t. I speculate that half of the donation was set to go to him from the very start. It’s likely this donation was to disguise a payout for his help in a coverup. _

_ There have always been murmurs of a “Playbook” full of misogynistic scores for females at the school based on how well they performed in bed. While all claims regarding the book’s existence have yet to been proven, there have been an ever increasing number of students reporting harassment to the principal’s office with very little repercussions for those claimed to be the perpetrators. _

_ Junior Ethel Muggs, is a victim of such bullying. She claims Chuck Clayton was the one to write her name down in the “Playbook”. The consequences of his actions were apparent immediately. _

_ “People would walk by me and ask how it was being a six. Other guys on the football and water polo team would throw things at me. They told me I should let them give me a sticky maple,” Muggs said. _

_ These disturbing accounts from her aren’t the only ones. More and more are speaking up against the sexual violence they’ve endured. A senior who wishes to stay anonymous also stepped forward to share her stories. _

_ “It’s mortifying being mocked. To have people you don’t even know come up to you and tell you the things you did when you thought it was safe to just express your sexuality. I hate it. Sometimes I wish I was dead.” The anonymous source said. _

_ Junior Veronica Lodge also had something to say about her experiences. _

_ “Chuck Clayton told everyone during freshman year that I let him give me a sticky maple, which I obviously didn’t. They’re spreading rumors because they want to, and they can. They know they won’t get in trouble for it. Principal Weatherbee won’t do anything about it,” Lodge said. “It’s misogynistic, for one, but it’s also just sad. They know they can’t get these things out of actual woman because they’re pigs, so they make it up for an ego boost.” _

_ Football players, water polo members  _ — _ all information points to the athletes as the culprits for these heinous actions. And at the head of both groups is Jason Blossom, star quarterback and mayor’s son. Naturally, as whispers surrounding the “Playbook” grew louder, Clifford was forced to come to his son’s defence. Records show that the generous donation Riverdale High received was from the Blossoms. It’s not too far of a stretch to assume that perhaps he was covering up for his son’s transgressions with a wad of cash and an underground secret. _

_ These days Weatherbee is more into golf than tennis. A few people spotted him at the golf course with a pretty new set of clubs. For a teacher with a low salary, it’s suspicious he can be shelling out a grand for new equipment. _

_ Jason and Clifford Blossom both declined to comment on these allegations. But Chuck Clayton, son of the football coach and alleged perpetrator of much of the harassment, had something to say. _

_ “Whatever you’re looking for doesn’t exist. And even if it did there would be no way for you to prove it.” Clayton said. _

_ The students and faculty should thank Weatherbee for his service these long years, but his recent dealings with Mayor Blossom are suspect, shining an unflattering light on his authority, his integrity, and the school. Perhaps we aren’t all clear skies with Weatherbee as we had originally thought or hoped. _

_ \------------------- _

_ \-------- _

_ \----- _

_ \-- _

_ - _

Finished with his second readthrough of the peace, Jughead set his laptop aside with a curt nod. It was good work  — amazing even. He hadn’t expected Betty to be as talented of a writer as she was. A few English assignments edited anonymously here and there had not properly prepared him for the scathing journalism before him. (Honestly, it was kind of hot).

There wasn’t much to be edited. A few phrasing issues here and there  — for a new writer, that was superb. Not that he expected anything less from the Queen of Perfection Elizabeth Cooper. It was ready for print tonight.

The door to the Blue and Gold Office opened and in walked the woman herself. She had agreed to meet with him after school hours once she could sneak away from Veronica’s mandatory Wednesdays Fries and No Guys at Pop’s. In her hand was the milkshake he’d instructed her to bring. Who could blame him for milking his position of power for just a little bit longer?

“Anything else you need, Prince?” Betty asked, setting the coffee shake down in front of him. “Two cherries, no whipped cream, just like you ordered.”

“You would make an outstanding waitress, Betts. I mean, not that you’ll ever need the money, but it’s a great backup plan for you.” He plucked the maraschino cherry of the top and bit in.

“I’ll add: can remember complex orders and walk to pick them up to my ever growing list of talents. It’ll fall somewhere between Maple Princess two years running and able to tie a cherry stem with my tongue.”

Jughead snorted, rolling his eyes. “Last I checked only teenage girls in cliche romance movies could do things like that. When should I expect your debut role of Catherine in the fifteenth modern day remake of Shakespeare’s  _ Taming of the Shrew _ .”

“ _ 10 Things I Hate About You _ was an amazing rom com, you’re just bitter and alone.”

“Oooh, guilty as charged.”

Reaching over, Betty snatched the remaining cherry from the sleek plastic cup, popping it into her mouth. Some of the red juices spilled out and stained her pretty pink lips. A few seconds later, she pulled out a perfectly knotted cherry stem, setting it in front of him with a wink. If Jughead didn’t know any better, he might have thought that Betty Cooper was flirting with him.

“Cute. Disgusting, but cute.” He flicked it off the old oak desk and into the trash can. “Now about your article.” Her expression changed, sitting up a little straighter and eyes wide. “It’s good. Really good. Well written, keeps to the style, ribs Weatherbee in half in probably the most hilariously condescending passive aggressive bitch fest I’ve ever seen. I like it.” She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off when Jughead shook his head. “But I won’t publish it.”

From pretty in pink to furious in fuschia with just a single sentence, Betty gaped at him. “I’m sorry and why not? You said it was good! Were you just fucking with me this entire time? Pulling my strings because you’re bitter about a few things I teased you for? Where’s your journalistic integrity?”

Jughead’s grip tightened on the cup. “Wow, an integrity speech coming from you? The sky must really be falling. I’m sorry, but if I remember correctly, I’m not the one spitting on the less fortunate because they look at me wrong. And don’t.  _ Do not _ act like you’re above what they do. You act all fucking high and mighty, holier than thou, because your parents are rich and you can do whatever the fuck you want with little consequences. You act like you’re a gift to society with a pretty smile and a few biweekly runs to a soup kitchen. Pull your head out of your ass and wake up to reality, Cooper, because one day it’s going to hit you so hard in the face you’ll be left spinning. I’m not going to publish some fucking vendetta you have against the Blossoms without better proof and risk my paper so you can get a few stabs in on your mortal enemy. I print it and it’s my ass on the line, not yours. I can’t wave around a stack of cash to make my problems go away like you can.”

The air felt stifling now, filled with unchecked resentment he hadn’t even been aware he’d been hoarding in his heart for the last few years. Betty stayed silent, eyes downcast at her lap. Her fists were clenched tightly yet again. Whatever coping mechanisms she was using were unhealthy, and he’d just activated all of them. Jughead took a deep breath, opening his mouth to apologize.

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone,” her voice was quiet. “I never have, even when I was told that. I just... get caught up in it all.”

Jughead sighed, running a hand through the unruly curl that could never be tamed under his signature hat. “Forget about it. What I was going to say was that I’m not going to publish it  _ yet _ . It’s a good article, but we need more to back it up then speculation and circumstantial evidence. I think you’re right and you’re onto something. This wouldn’t be the first account of corruption coming from mayor’s office. Besides, it’s a conflict of interest for you to be writing about something that hits so close to home.”

Whatever ire had been incurred before seemed to be slowly fading from Betty’s eyes. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I understand that. I’m sorry I got all... uppity about it.”

“Forget it. For my sake and yours. I’m willing to put myself out there, even write the article myself for you, but we need more proof. While we’re investigating Polly’s disappearance maybe we’ll come across more things about it. Jason and her dated a while, yeah?”

“Two years,” she confirmed. “Well a year and a half more like. They broke up last year for a few months but I could never get her to tell me why. I think it had something to do with the Playbook  — maybe she found out about it. I’ve been trying to find out. I know Polly had a diary somewhere in the house but I can’t find it. I think maybe mom locked it away somewhere.”

“Coopers are really into their secrets. Even from each other.”

Betty sighed. “You have no idea.”

He let the silence sit for a minute, curious to see if she would say more. It looked like she might, but she quickly quieted herself until the air became stagnant and all that was left was an unanswered question and a looming sense of what was to come. Jughead hopped up from his desk, officially breaking the uncomfortable moment that had settled over them like a heavy sheet of lead.

Hidden in the back, behind a projector no one really used, was a relic from the past: an old pin board used by the original Blue and Gold editor-in-chief before computers became common place in the newsroom. Jughead pulled out a box of notecards and some red string from one of the desks. Curiously, Betty watched him, looking as regal as a princess even in the worn-down black rolling chair. Some of the cushion was starting to come out from the bottom, a clear sign that like most things he cared about, the office was falling apart.

“And what are we going to do with that?” Betty asked, pointing at his supplies. “And can I ask why you have five hundred copies of the Riverdale Register?”

It made Jughead sick to talk about the town’s newspaper. Owned and operated by his family starting with his great grandfather (who would unknowingly start a line of Forsythe Pendleton Joneses), it was once the only way in town to get the news. But with the rise of television, magazines, and the omnipresent internet, print journalism met its decline. While his father worked with Fred in construction, it had mostly been his mother’s job to keep the paper functioning. 

Most of his childhood he’d spent surrounded by the smell of fresh newsprint and ink. He used to sit by Gladys, round and heavy with her second child, and help her edit the best a young boy could. But even the money the paper made couldn’t keep up with his father’s alcoholic binges. Further and further into debt they plunged. When his mom left, there was no one around to keep the print running and he was forced to hang a bright red “for sale” sign on the only place he’d ever really felt at home.

When the Lodge’s rolled into town, Hiram took immediate interest in the news shop. He claimed, looking at the rundown computers and boarded up windows, that a small town like theirs needed news to function. Within three months the sale had been finalized. FP used the money to buy a smaller trailer and two kegs of Corona. Now the paper was run by Hiram’s wife, Hermione Lodge, but only in a managerial sense. Most of the actual article writing was outsourced.

“Well, once upon a time, it was a family owned and operated business that had been in my family since my grandfather. But you know, capitalism gets in the way of that. Why it’s relevant to us is that these are all the papers that have some information about Polly going missing. Police reports, interviews, etc. Then I’ve got these,” he pulled out a stack of his own notes and pictures he’d snapped along the way.

“And what, exactly, are we going to do with those, Jones?”

Jughead sat a little straighter and smiled. “We’re making a murder board, Betty.”

“A murder board? Jughead no one’s dead!”

“What do you expect me to call it then? A Missing Person’s Board? That really doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

After her initial apprehension on participating in anything with the word “murder” in the title, she took to it well. She helped him tie strings, pick pin placement, and even pointed in direction he had never dreamed to think of. It was as if Ned and Nancy had jumped right off the pages of one of his childhood sleuthing books. Truthfully, the thought made him smile.

Betty held up one of the pictures. Staring back at him was the soulless eyes of Hal Cooper. Years of business trading and his daughter’s disappearance had done nothing for the hard lines etched in his skin, none of which were smile lines. The family resemblance was there, if he looked long enough at the two young Cooper girls, but they had always better mirrored their mother.

Some nights, back when Jughead still lived in the trailer with his dad and before the alcohol consumed him completely and the gang was the only thing that kept the shell of his father still standing, night terrors would grip FP. He would whisper words and phrases that Jughead wished now that he had written down. But what was uttered more than anything was Alice Cooper’s name. Again and agian he’d heard it, and again and again he’d wondered why on earth his father would be talking about a Cooper. It was unlikely they had ever done more than cross paths in high school. There was no murder mystery back then to pull together two unlikely folks from across the great classism chasm.

“You think my dad is responsible for my sister dropping off the face of the earth?” Betty asked with a raised eyebrow.

“In a cutthroat world like this it’s guilty until proven innocent.”

He thought she might throw it away, rip his picture to shreds and proclaim her father’s innocence. But with a silent nod and a little blue thumbtack, Betty pinned the picture to the corkboard.

“My dad’s been keeping secrets. Both mom and him have. So maybe... maybe they know more than they’re letting on. I’m not saying they did it, because my parents love Polly, maybe more than they love me, and they would do anything to keep her safe. They always wanted me to live up to these stupidly high expectations, but when she went missing they just put more and more pressure on me. Like I-” she paused, voice cracking as she realized just how far she’d start to spiral.

Before thinking, Jughead cautiously reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know I don’t wear pearls or have an unlimited Macy’s membership but if you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

“And why would you do that? After everything I’ve done to you?”

“Call me a masochist. Certainly wouldn’t be the worst sexual deviation I’ve been accused of after the time Reggie called me a Necrophilic and used my back to break an unsuspecting vending machine.”

The corners of her lips twitch into a smile. “I still don’t think he knows how to spell that.”

“I’m pretty sure Reggie doesn’t know how to spell anything.”

She laughed and he found it easy to fall into it right along with her. “Okay, okay. Point taken. He’s probably not the smartest guy I’ve ever kissed.”

“You let Reggie Mantle tongue you? For shame Betty Cooper, we all thought you were above that. You’ll have to return your crown and your sash at the door.”

“Oh haha, you’re so funny.” But she  _ was _ laughing, a genuine smile forming on those pretty pink lips. It was nothing like the fake ones she gave for interviews or class presentations. Her body seemed at ease now, mind relaxed. Maybe, even for a just a fraction of a second, she could have felt free from all her burdens. Jughead thought he might be the luckiest guy alive to be able to help her with that.

“I know. Hand me a mic stand, a shot of tequila, and I’m a riot.”

“Alright Dane Cook, enough jokes.”

“Jeez, next time do you want to pick a funnier comedian, and one less misogynistic?”

Betty rolled her eyes and picked up the red string. “Help me find a good picture of Clifford Blossom for the murder board. I know I’ve said it a million times, but he had something to do with this, with what’s happening to my family and Polly. That entire family is nothing but bad news.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Jughead couldn’t help but agree. In all his interactions with the Blossom’s, roughly negative fifteen of them had been pleasant. The Blossom twins took pleasure in his torment so much so, that he was sure it was the only reason he was still allowed to stay at Riverdale High despite his legal place of residence being up in the air. And even if he could still claim Sunnyside Trailer Park as his home, that fell under Southside High territory. Even Riverdale, with it’s The Shining twins and High School Musical social life, was better than there. It wasn’t his secret dream to up and join the same gang his father had crippled their family with just to be protected from a group of thugs selling crack cocaine lite  — marketed as “Jingle Jangle” of all things  — calling themselves Ghoulies.

Logically, it would make sense for Clifford to be involved somehow. Whatever hatred had been forged decades ago between the two families ran deeper than the maple tree roots that kept their town tied together. Minute by minute those branches were snapping and cozy Riverdale was being unraveled. Something had to be done about it, and soon, or it was likely things would never be normal again.

“Do you have anyone close to Jason you can talk to?” Jughead asked, looking over the suspects. “He’d rather eat a brick then open up to me, but you were his girlfriends sister. That has to count for something right?”

“You would think but no such luck. After Polly went missing whatever truce we had was over with. We’re right back to scratching each other to death over maple syrup.”

“Maple syrup…”

An epiphany struck, one so strong Jughead was sure there must have been a lightbulb right over his head, glowing bright enough to blind her. He quickly searched through the papers, checking their dates. Nothing went back far enough, but maybe, just maybe, there would be something hidden at the Register.

“You look like you’ve struck gold. Fess up!”

“When you write a novel, where is the best place to start, Betty?”

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Well really it depends on what kind of overarching theme you’re looking for. Some people would say en media res can be interesting as long as you go back and explain how we got to that point through dialogue and description. I’ve never heard of something starting at the beginning but it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.”

He blinked before rolling his eyes, picking up the pillow from his makeshift couch bed and tossing it at her. 

“Ow! What the hell, Jughead?”

“You’re thinking too hard! You start a story from the beginning. So that’s what we’re doing. We’ll go all the way back to when the Coopers and the Blossoms first started hating each other. Maybe this goes deep into the blood feud.”

“And where would we get that kind of information? My parents keep everything about our records under lock and key in some vault under the stairs. And trust me, I’ve tried to pick it. It doesn’t work.”

Had he not been so consumed with his revelation, Jughead might have fully processed the information that Betty could, in fact, pick a lock, and he did, in fact, think that was really hot. He shook his head to chase those thoughts away and refocus on the situation at hand. He could ogle Betty later.

“Maybe you can’t crack a bank safe, but if I remember right, the way into the Register isn’t kept too heavily under lock and key.”

“I’m sorry, are you asking me to break into my best friend’s mom’s place of work? Are you crazy?”

“Think about it. Who has records that go that far back other than your parents and the Blossoms. A newspaper. I used to help my mom categorize the old archives. There was stuff that dated back to when my great-grandfather first opened up shop. They’re probably a little dusty but it’s the only place I can think of. So unless you’ve got something better up your sleeve that you’d like to share with the class, it’s our only option.”

Betty stared at him in disbelief, letting his suggestion sink in. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Fine. I see your point. If you think there might be new security features since you left, I’ll ask Veronica about borrowing a key.”

“What are you going to tell her? That you’re investigating a crime with the weird kid from school and you need to check old newspaper archives?”

She groaned and took a step back, admiring the intricate pin work they had spent the last few hours on. More than once her mother had called and asked if she was heading home. Whatever words they exchanged were less than pleasant about the issue, but Jughead knew it wasn’t his place to pry. 

“I will. Her and Archie are the ones who told me to come talk to you in the first place.”

He feigned shock for her benefit alone, “Really? And here I thought Archie never listened when I went off on a rant.”

“I’m sure V will be okay with this. And if she’s not then we’ll talk about your plan. Your stupid, illegal, B&E plan that could get us both in so much trouble I can’t even fathom it.”

“If we can get in the cut and dry legal way I’m all for it. In my experiences most doors get shut in my face. Then again, I’m not rich or pretty.”

Betty laughed again. That seemed to be a theme when she was around him. He felt a little pride in that. “Well, one of those things is certainly true.”

For the second time that day, Jughead was forced to face the possibility that Betty might be flirting with him. Betty Cooper: the girl he’d had a crush on since Kindergarten. Betty Cooper: smart, talented, rich and pretty girl from maple syrup royalty. He tried desperately not to get his hopes up. Whenever he did that, almost everything around him went wrong.

There was a shrill hum in the background, the sound of a phone vibrating in an expensive leather purse. Betty rolled her eyes and quickly went to retrieve it. Another argument, followed by a swift hang up and a frustrated groan.

“That was my mom. She sent the driver over to pick me up, no more waiting around. I guess missing dinner the third night in a row starts to make your parents worried. Who could blame me for not wanting to sit around awkwardly while my parents make thinly veiled threats at each other,” She paused and shook her head. “Sorry. That was too much.”

“Hey, don’t worry. Trust me when I say I’ve never been one for family dinners myself.” Not that he ever had any. Most nights it was cold pizza from the freezer or leftover Pop’s from the night before. People often called him gluttonous now, but when you grew up unsure when you’d get your next real meal, that fear started to consume you. It became a habit to overeat every chance he had.

She didn’t pry, just shook her head and left a pale pink kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for today Jug. I’ll talk to Veronica and let you know. Have a goodnight.”

“Y — yeah. Night Betty.” 

He wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, but Betty really did have a way of walking away and leaving him stunned. As he tossed and turned on the old, worn down, Blue and Gold couch, the only thing he dreamed about were cherry flavored kisses and Nancy Drew novels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 4: The Riverdale Register
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> If you have any theories about what happened to Polly I'm more than all ears <3 And what did we think of Betty's article?!


	4. The Riverdale Register

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery gets starts to unravel a little bit in this chapter! I'm excited to hear more of your thoughts about who you think done it and what happened to Polly. I'm so grateful to all of you who have followed me on this and who are interested in this work. I love love love writing it. Also, finally we're going to get a little bughead flirting. They're definitely getting closer <3
> 
> Once again i love my beta @lilibug--xx for being just the best <3

They say print journalism is dead, but in a small town like Riverdale, it runs right along side the maple syrup. Everyday a young boy rings the bell on his bike as he tosses a freshly printed paper on the doorstep of every house in town. A father opens the door, coffee in hand, slippers on  — an idyllic representation of what smalltown America should be  — and brings it inside. He sits at the table for breakfast and recounts the feature news to his children and loving wife before it is inevitably time for his job bottling syrup at the Cooper’s factory.

My father never did those things. Whatever hope and ambition FP once had for a better life was snuffed out after being forced into an early wedlock with a high school senior he'd gotten pregnant. My parent’s marriage was a never ending cycle of resentment. Gladys hated him for taking away her dreams of one day getting out of our shitty little town to become a famous actress, instead forcing her into the role of a young mother and newspaper editor. 

The paper had never been his endgame. He was an athlete: a football player with a blown out knee and a series of promising roads that all lead to dead ends. He drank to cope with the pain. He drank to cope with his despondent wife. Then, he drank to forget the way she left him. After awhile, I think he forgot why he even started. Now, he just drinks to pass the time.

Alcoholism is a disease  — a plague that comes in waves. It starts off small, but eventually the tsunami comes beating down the door and everyone caught in the wreckage is left drowning. You beg for them to hear you, but nothing beats the sirens song of a blissful empty night and pure ethanol running down the back of your throat. Sometimes, FP pretends it’s over, pretends he’s the man he always wanted to be. He’ll look in the mirror and shave his face, invite me back home and apologize for all the wrong he caused. But it doesn’t last, it never does. The ocean calls him home again.

The earliest memory I have of my parents and their turbulent  —  borderline toxic  — marriage was my fifth birthday. For years, there was a picture hanging over the dining room table from that day: there I was, front and center, smiling as wide as I could. My front tooth was missing and I’ll never forget the way the house still smelled like smoke from the  burnt cake my mother had tried to make from scratch. She was to my right in the picture, smiling as brightly as she could to mask the troubled waters in her deep blue eyes. To the left was the cake, lopsided and crumbly but still half eaten by greedy fingers a few minutes earlier. The remnants of the chocolate smeared across my cheeks.

That was the day my mother announced her pregnancy. Or rather, whispered it so softly she hoped it couldn’t be heard.

“A baby? Gladys stop acting like this is a bad thing! Why don’t we just tell him?”

The hallway was their favorite place for marital tiffs. It gave them some misguided sense of privacy in the old double wide. But noise carried and it was the only thing I could hear. Even the construction workers were drowned out by my parents frustrations.

“Are you an idiot?” her voice was bitter, dripping with venom. “We can’t afford another baby. The newspaper is barely profiting and Fred says if you fuck up one more time he’s going to cut you loose. And what little money we do make goes right into the liquor stores cash register anyway.”

“Baby I’m gonna be different this time. I’ll get better.”

_ I’m going to be different this time.  _ Promises  blindly accepted by a woman and a boy who just wanted the man that mattered most brought back to them. For awhile, he did change, even if just a bit. The beer bottles were quieter when he snuck them from the refrigerator late at night. His eyes weren’t as bloodshot when he dropped me off to school in the morning, but they were when he came to pick me up.

The year after Jellybean and my mother left, my father looked at me and asked, “What do you want for your birthday?”

There were a lot of things I could have asked for, and a lot more that I couldn't even fathom.

_ Stop drinking  _ — _ for me. _

_ I want my family back home. I want to hold my sister tight and read her bedtime stories that I think are annoying. Apologize  _ — _ for me. _

_ The Serpent's are eating you alive. You aren’t the same man you were a few months ago now that you're leading them. Leave them  _ —  _ for me. _

_ Put the bottle down, for the love of God, just put it down and look at me like I’m not some ghost from the past! Please  _ — _ for me. _

Lots of things make people selfish. Money, fame, codependency. At least my father’s motivations made sense. I knew what kept him clinging to the bottle, spiraling down again and again. Whereas my mother’s thoughts have always remained a mystery.

Growing up, I think she saw too much of my father in me. The Jones boys, all with the same iconic name, all with the same iconic smile. She did her best to dress me up differently. While still in utero, she took knitting classes from Mary Andrews  — a woman so determined to be her friend she had taken it upon herself to act as a sisterly mentor. 

(Mary Andrews knew my mother was leaving before anyone else. Mary Andrews, sworn to secrecy, as she watched for weeks as my mother stealthily packed and planned her great escape. Mary Andrews who was the first to pull me close, hold me tight, and promise that things were going to be okay. There was an inexplicably tender part in my heart for Archie’s mother, so much so, that I had been almost as devastated as he was when his parents announced their divorce and her impending relocation to Chicago.)

Her first  — and only  — attempt at a knitting resulted in a hastily crafted whoopee hat, far too big for her newborns head. Back when my dad still kept the pictures up and not stuffed in a box under his bed so he didn’t have to watch Gladys continue to criticize his bad habits, I couldn’t find a single one where I wasn’t wearing that stupid gray hat. It was a way to differentiate me from the Forsythes that had come before, the Forsythes that had grasped her budding young life and steered it towards a destination of mediocrity and unhappiness.

If Mary Andrews knew why my mother left, she didn’t tell anyone. We were left to wonder. Speculate. Question our very beings. It forced my father to retreat within a gang of men who swore acceptance and loyalty. They promised they wouldn’t leave him. Not like she had. He was christened King two months after she left  — a ceremony I did not attend.

I clung to the past. For weeks, I slept out at the Register, no longer powered or printing. The smell of fresh ink and newsprint was comforting, a welcome relief from the trailer that reeked of stale booze and weed. It was nostalgic to sleep, tucked under one of those old desks, like I had in my earliest years. Back when day care was too expensive so Gladys brought her son into work and let him nap with a pillow and his hat under the old oak while she chipped away at the latest Cooper news. When the papers would print Saturday nights, I used to pull one from the top and hand it to her, begging to be told a story. It didn’t matter that the words she said weren’t important or comprehensible. I didn’t know the politics of the maple syrup I drizzled over my pancakes every morning. Political scandals with the Blossoms weren’t important. All I heard was my mother’s voice, soft and gentle, until I was lulled to sleep.

It hurt to see her leave, but the memory of little Jellybean, shoved into the back of a dingy yellow taxi cab, bound for a one way bus stop to nowhere, is one that still haunts me. For six years, I did everything I could for her. When my parents were fighting, I held her hands steady to walk. Nothing could motivate her quite like her favorite candy. Why she was named Forsythia still baffles me. Perhaps it was the only thing they could think of to rescue their failing marriage. But with another child comes another financial responsibility, one neither of them were willing to take on.

As best I could, I shoved my problems to the wayside. I grew up quickly  — I had been forced to. Archie would ask for playdates on the weekends, but there was no one home to watch my sister if I went. Unless she could come, I was trapped inside the double wide like a modern housewife, shoving beer bottles in the trash can so my mother wouldn’t catch them piling up and answering calls for collection agencies repeating that no, my parents weren’t home, and no I didn’t know when they were getting back and yes, I would tell them that they called.

(They won’t care, was better left unsaid.)

Some days, Jellybean and I would spend at the Register with our mother, huddled up in the corner working on homework. Math made her head spin, and she’d beg and beg for me to help until, after an hour of her  _ please please pleases _ , I would cave and lend her an older brother’s perspective. She didn’t have the same fondness for old brick building that I did. 

“It feels weird here, Jug. Like something bad is coming.”

Perhaps she could sense the shift better than I ever could. To me, it was a place of comfort. I was blind to the fact that, over the years, it had slowly begun it’s decay. Less writers, less papers, less and less and less until it was all but empty. The only thing left were a few relics of the past. Archives, printing press, and a single pink gel pen left by an excited little girl who cried for days when she realized she forgot it.

Hiram Lodge probably didn’t keep that.

\-----------------

\----------

\-----

\---

-

Early Saturday morning, before Jughead was usually up and hunkered over a burger at Pop’s, a shrill ring cut through his empty, dreamless sleep, jolting him upright so quickly he nearly pulled the muscles in his back. Already sore from the lumpy couch he’d taken residence on, his entire body let out an angry groan when he reached for his phone. It was an unknown number  — leaving infinite possibilities. Potentially, his father was calling from a payphone piss drunk outside the Whyte Wyrm; it was entirely more plausible than he wanted to admit. Another likely scenario was that it was one of the Serpents calling to check in. Some of them were kind enough to keep Jughead updated on his father’s whereabouts. Stupidly, he hoped maybe it was Gladys or Jellybean, but he was always the one that had to call them.

“Hello?” his voice was hoarse with exhaustion as he stumbled towards the coffee pot and pressed the glowing red button.

“Jughead! Archie gave me your phone number  — it’s Betty,” her soft, feminine voice filled his ears. It sounded like the sugar he never liked in his coffee. “I’m glad you picked up!”

“Betty? Can I help you with something?”

The clock on the wall  — still ticking with annoying determination even after the time he’d thrown an entire broom at it  — told him it was 7:30 am. Normally, he’d be furious at the rude awakening. The janitor, Mr. Svenson, didn’t come until noon on Saturdays to clean, which would have meant a few extra hours of blissful silence had Betty Cooper not acted the part of chipper morning dove. Mercifully, the coffee pot beeped, pouring out a steady stream of liquid caffination into his ceramic white mug. Not as good as Pop’s, nothing ever was, but he'd choke it down.

“Well, we were helping each other last I checked. I talked to V about the Register. She said she can get us in. Tonight. She’s got an extra set of keys for when her mom asks her to go pick things up on her way home from school.”

Cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, Jughead took the mug in his hands and let the warm coffee coat his tongue before speaking. “That’s great. The area is pretty quiet late at night, so if we go any time after midnight we should make it in without any suspicious looks.”

“Veronica did have one speculation though. She, um… she wants to come with us.”

Down the wrong pipe the coffee went and he half sputtered his response, “I’m sorry she wants to  _ what _ ?”

“She wants to come, Jug. And she said she won’t let us in if she can’t. And we can break into the Register, but if we don’t have to, wouldn’t that be better? Veronica is a perfectly fine sleuthing buddy.”

“See, the way you said that doesn’t exactly make me believe you, Betty. Not to be rude, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a moment with Veronica that she wasn’t talking. Can we really trust her to keep her mouth shut on whatever it is we find in there?”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes on the other end of the line. “It’s not like we’re going to find a dead body locked in the archives of a newspaper, Juggie. And if I ask her, she’ll swear to secrecy.”

And just like that, a time portal opened up underneath his feet and Jughead was back in a time where he could exchange soft sweet nicknames with the prettiest girl in kindergarten and kiss her cheek without so much as an ‘ew’ from the general populous. A time where things were simpler. A time where things were gentle. It wasn’t often he got nostalgic for the past  — his pragmatic nature never let him  — but clear as the “Welcome to Riverdale” sign, was the gap tooth smile Betty had given him when she first called him “Juggie”. 

He remembered the way she used to hold his hand, fingers sticky with cherry pineapple popsicles after first grade field day. They were on opposite teams (fitting for the Romeo and Juliet sans romance spin their life would take). She looked pretty in her blue shirt, even with the grass stains. He had been in red. Red didn’t suit him. Red was loud and painful and the color of the shit Reggie liked to throw at him. Blue would have looked better. Blue was sad and muted and tired. But not on Betty. On her, everything was radiant.

“Fine,” Jughead sighed, pulling himself from the daydream and back into the realm of the living. “We meet at Pop’s at seven. If we have Veronica’s keys we don’t need a midnight Nancy Drew heist.”

“But I already picked out my best black outfit and packed an extra set of bobby pins.”

The teasing felt natural. Apparently, she hadn’t been able to shake the lingering childhood memories as well as she liked to pretend. His heart rumbled painfully, slowly filling his veins with a thick green poison. There was no point in fooling himself. With Veronica around, this newly forged friendship would shift even further into murky waters. Whatever delicate balance they had managed to achieve was about to be drastically upset.

“I know, I know. But that’s what happens when you get legal means of entering and you take all the fun out of a B&E.”

“I’ll remember that for next time. Veronica and I will meet you there at seven on the dot. And before you ask, yes, I will pay for a milkshake.”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but good to know you’ve accepted your fate.”

With one last promise that yes she would absolutely be there on time with Veronica and yes, bringing her really was a good idea, the phone call ended, leaving Jughead with a bitter taste on his tongue that he tried to pawn off on the stale coffee. He packed up the couch, tossing blankets and pillows into storage bins he kept hidden in plain sight. No one could know this was where he lived. Mr. Svenson lived in a blissful ignorance Jughead didn’t dare disturb.

Pop greeted him with the same cheerful smile as always and a cup of his famous caffeinated blend. In Jughead’s designated corner booth, there was a basket of onion rings already waiting for him. Slowly he began picking apart the next chapter of his novel. Bit by bit, he was finally crafting something to be proud of (or at least tolerant of). Around noon, a burger and another basket came  — on the house like Pop always insisted it should be for his “best customer”.

“You don’t have to.” It was a courtesy more than anything. Even when on the days he could barely scrounge up enough money for a shake, Pop always did his best to send him on his way with a full stomach. At six years old those acts of kindness had cemented a lasting loyalty to the diner.

When the words wouldn’t come, Jughead followed the ticking hands of the clock around and around again until it struck seven. Just as he was about to send a cheeky text to Betty, in walked the most iconic duo in all of Riverdale. B and V: joined at the hip. Not even Freshman year sadie hawkins could tear them apart. Archie had his forgotten his promise of a date to either of them and ended up arm-in-arm with Valerie of The Pussycats fame that night. Instead of mourning the loss, they strolled in wearing the matching vixen outfits and danced until their feet hurt. At least, that’s what the rumor mill said, not that Jughead paid much mind to Kevin’s gossip column besides the occasional edit.

Veronica was gorgeous in her own right, but to him, she didn’t hold a candle to Betty’s angelic radiance. Dressed in all black, the duo obviously hadn’t taken the ‘no espionage outfit required’ to heart. His gaze followed the curves of Betty's body. Everytime he looked at her, Jughead discovered something new to be in awe of.

If someone had told him a week ago that he would find himself sitting in a booth at Pop’s with the two most popular, desirable women at Riverdale High, he might have thrown something at them. Only someone like Archie Andrews had that kind of luck. But here they were, with Betty’s bright green eyes boring holes so deeply into his soul that he was seconds away from becoming the human embodiment of swiss cheese. Before anyone could speak, there was a strawberry shake placed in front of Betty and a triple chocolate in front of Veronica.

“So, Jones, I’m glad you have some intel that can help my girl out, but I’m not sure what you’re expecting to find at the paper.”

“Well not very long ago it was  _ my _ paper, so I’ve got a better grasp of what’s in there then you do. I grew up there, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t stepped foot in the Register except to drop off imported French chocolate to your mom.” Judging by the silence, he’d all but hit the nail on the head. “But what we’re trying to do is find the original sin of Riverdale. What was the apple, who was our Eve, and what diabolical snake tempted them. What caused the maple tree roots to rot?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her shake, “Alright Edgar Allan Poe, do you always speak in literary metaphors?”

He meant to answer. He really did. But with her best friend properly distracted, Betty had begun picking apart her shake. Those normally oh so innocent eyes glimmered with something mischievous. It started innocently enough, licking her pretty pink painted lips before diving into the extra whipped cream Pop had given her. His eyes couldn’t help but wander when, with a quiet pop, she pulled her finger out of her mouth, now completely clean of white fluff. She didn’t stop watching him. Not even when her lips closed around the juicy red cherry. And then she had the audacity to tie the stem right in front of him.

It was obvious he was staring. Veronica’s gaze drifted over to Betty and all that innocence came rushing back. She cocked her head to the side and asked, “What? What are you guys looking at? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, nothing.” Jughead closed his eyes and inhaled the biggest breath he could to remind himself that whatever shower room thoughts were running laps in his brain right now could wait. “You said you’ve got a key to The Register?”

“Yep. My mother gave me an extra set when we bought the place. I also know the alarm code so we won’t be mistaken for burglars, which would have happened if you guys followed through on your insane plan to break in.”

“I’ll send a thank you arrangement to your penthouse, Ronnie. I appreciate it. I need to figure out what’s going on with my family. It’s insane at my house. I don’t feel safe anymore.” Betty squeezed her hand tightly.

Veronica pulled her in for a hug. “I know, B. I’m happy to do this for you.”

Fading into the background is a habit turned talent for Jughead. He watches like he’s in the projection booth at the Twilight Drive-In. High School flickers before him in a series of predictable movie highlights. On paper is where his stories go. No one watches him with the same critical gaze he gives the trite plot points around him. Until Polly’s disappearance, Riverdale was the small town, USA cliche. Glimpses like this remind him that, deep underneath the surface, there might still be some salvageable innocence left.

Betty suddenly turns to him, as if struck by the realization that she is not alone with her best friend, but instead part of a frighteningly real millennial production of  _ Hamlet _ that Jughead is bearing witness to. “Are we ready to go?”

He waved to Pop for the checks. If Veronica noticed, she didn’t comment when Betty picked up Jughead’s tab. With one last french fry to satiate his never ending hunger, they left for the direction of The Register. They were taking the Cooper car  — a present for her 16th birthday, she explained  — because they wouldn’t all fit on Jughead’s motorcycle and Veronica had never touched the wheel of a vehicle in her entire life. He was shoved in the back with their cheerleading pom-poms and school spirit banners.

The whole ride left him feeling a bit uneasy. Maybe it was the thought of going back to a place he constantly looked back at with nostalgic rose tinted glasses. But maybe it was how spotless the interior of the pale blue mini cooper was. He could hardly focus on a single thought through the incessantly boppy music  — 102.8 the River Side, Riverdale’s only local radio station. There was a pink lemonade air freshener plugged into the AC, making the already small space stifling. His tried to focus on something that wasn’t the way Betty’s lip looked, puckered into a hum as she kept the tune of a song he didn’t know but hated anyway.

On the floor is a yellow flyer that catches his attention.  _ Vote B and V for Student Body. A Duo Who Will Always Due You Right.  _ Immediately he imagined Reggie’s reaction to such a poster.

“ _ I hope that means you’ll be  _ do me right _ later, ladies.” _

The thought almost made the primal sixteen year old boy part of his brain laugh.

“You’re running for student council?”

“You are currently sitting in a car with your future Riverdale High President and Vice President, Jughead,” Veronica answered, turning around to look at him. “I was born for politics and Betty adds the perfect amount of sweetness and loyalty to this campaign. I hope we can count on your vote since I’m helping you with your great manifesto?”

Student council was exactly the thing he would have pictured from Betty Cooper. Her family lived to be front and center. It would look perfect on college applications, right between cheerleading captain and heir to the Cooper throne. In the rearview mirror, he caught it  — the flicker of doubt, fear, and unhappiness in her brilliant green eyes. The path she was expected to follow, but was it the one she wanted?

“Congrats. I’m sure you’ll have the whole school on your side.” That was all he said. All he dared to say. Betty seemed grateful for his blaise attitude, a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

The Register was exactly the way he had left it: the same crumbling brick exterior, the same frosted windows, the same scrolling golden font. For not the first time, a series of “what ifs” lumped in his throat.

_ What if his father had kept his promises? _

_ What if his mother hadn’t left? _

_ What if Fred Andrews hadn’t fired his father? _

_ What if, what if, what if? _

Jughead shook his head, chasing away whatever rotten words threatened to ruin tonight. This wasn’t about the past (well not his anyway). Tonight was for answers; answers for his book. Answers for Betty.

When Veronica opened the door, he was  overwhelmed by the familiar scent of newsprint. There had been few upgrades. The computers were not ancient relics, the chairs were nicer, and even the chalkboards looked freshly painted on. Bitterness danced on his tongue, whatever pleasantries he’d planned to give Veronica were dead now. Nothing but ripe jealousy was left. Jealousy that his home had been taken over, ruined, snatched from his grasp, just like everything else he had ever cared about.

“Where are the archives?” Betty’s voice snapped him to his senses.

Easily, Jughead guided them to the back room. It was locked, and not even the fancy set of keys Veronica had could get it to open.

“Guess those bobby pins are going to come in handy, Nancy Drew.” He looked over at Betty and winked.

Veronica was just as surprised as he was when she didn’t roll her eyes, but instead  _ giggled  _ and plucked the pins from her ponytail. “Good thing for you I’m always prepared, Jug.”

The room behind the door is dusty. So much so, that they all take a moment to hack it from their lungs before daring to plunge inside. It smells a bit sour, like old paper and a water pipe that wasn’t properly fixed. This was where he used to play hide and seek with Jellybean. Where it was easy to get lost in the myriad of file folders. 

It was second nature to him, combing through the numbers. His great grandfather had been meticulous in organization. The earliest files were all the way in the back left corner of the room, in a cabinet so rusted and dusty, Jughead wondered when they had been touched last. Certainly he could think of no reason his mother or father could have to venture so far back into Riverdale’s checkered past.

There was a file, the first one, tucked all the way in the back, the corner edge of the manila folded badly. Jughead shimmied his hand underneath, trying to pull it from it’s prison. Finally caught, he shook it free, kicking up another cloud of dust.

“Be careful with that!” Veronica coughed, “Jesus, you'd think this place was like a deadly weapon with how much filth there is back here.”

“Sorry, Princess, but remember, you didn’t have to come tonight if a little dirt was going to upset you so badly.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Both of you, please stop messing around. Open the folder, Jug.”

The first paper ever printed was (surprise) about the Cooper’s maple syrup empire  — or rather, the small business it was before. He flipped through the pages. Mostly, it’s filler. A sporting event, new shops opening, every day nonsense for a small sleepy town just starting to take root. There was a particularly boring article in the back about how to properly tap a tree.

“It hasn’t changed much,” Betty remarked, pointing at the two men standing side by side in front of Cooper farms. “But… wait, my grandfather didn’t have a brother!”

Jughead follows her finger to the caption at the bottom of the clipping. 

_ Cooper Brothers First Strike of the Season. _

“Are you sure about that B? That’s your family farm. I recognize the Victorian style Thornhill manor in the background immediately. Have I mentioned the architecture of your home is lovely by the way?”

“Not right now, Ronnie. No. No that’s not… we have to check the other ones. Brother? No one ever mentioned Great Grandpa Cooper having a brother. I don’t have any extended family. This doesn’t make sense.”

Papers went flying, despite Jughead’s best attempts at organizing them into comprehensible stacks. It’s in the fifteenth folder they check when they find what they’ve been looking for.

“ _‘Cooper Brothers Brutal Murder: the Maple Syrup Industries Latest Causality,’_ ” Betty read aloud, unable to keep her eyes from the faded black font even as her voice shook. “ _‘It was reported last night that, in an act of greed, Herald Cooper murdered his brother in cold blood. When questioned about his motives, Herald pleaded innocent, but the blood on the property and his hands leave little room for debate.’_ Oh my God. Everything. My parents have lied about _everything._ How much else don’t I know about my family? About what we did just to have some maple syrup blood money?”

She tossed the newsprint away, sitting down on the dank floor without a second thought. Veronica rushed to her side to comfort her best friend however she could. Jughead picked up the forgotten paper and kept reading. And then…  _ oh my God _ wasn’t enough.

“Betty… I think I just found the motive you were looking for.”

“What?” she perked up, wiping her tears away. “What are you talking about?”

He took a deep breath. “ _ ‘A heart broken widow left to raise three children, the wife of Jeremiah Cooper has put in a motion for a name change. After tonight, there will be no ties left to her family as Coopers. Instead, their young son will take the name Blossom.’ _ ”

Before either of them could stop her, Betty ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 5: Betty's POV: Butterflies
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b


	5. Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! sorry I couldn't get this update up on Friday like I normally do. I didn't even get the chapter written until like really late Thursday night and i'm fucking blessed to have a beta like @lilibug--xx who got back to me so quickly <3
> 
> This chapter is from Betty's POV so I hope you guys get some clarity on what's been going on in our girls head a little bit. 
> 
> Also question: Would you guys like if I did chapter summaries? I've been contemplating it but let me know.

Dear Diary,

Last night, I went to the Register with Jughead and Veronica, and what I found scared me. It said in the paper that my great grandfather Cooper killed Cheryl’s great grandfather. It happened a long time ago, but they were brothers. Which means that Cheryl and I are technically cousins. And so were Polly and Jason. My dad must have known and maybe that's the reason he was so against them dating, unless it was good for public relations. Even though he would talk to the paper and the local news station about how happy they were together and how glad he was for their relationship, when we got home he would beg Polly to leave Jason. I never understood why but now... it all makes sense.

If someone were to find out about us and the Blossoms being related, it would be chaos. Everyone would be whispering about Polly and Jason, calling them deviant. I don’t even know how I feel about all of this. Of course, it’s strange to think about being related to the Blossoms, but it’s even stranger to think about dating one of them. And what if they had gotten married? What would the town have thought if this information came out? Would Hiram and Hermione have ever found it? Would they have blackmailed my family? I feel like I have more questions than I do answers now.

Knowing what I know now, I can’t help but worry about Polly. Wherever she is, I hope she’s safe. But I wonder if when Jughead and I pinned my dad’s picture to our suspect board, it was indicating something terrible. He can get violent when he’s angry. I’ve seen him and mom throw things during some of their worse fights. When we were young, Polly and I would just curl up in bed together. She would protect me. And it kills me to know I can’t protect her right now.

I still have the nightlight she gave me. On days like this, keeping it on helps remind me I’m not alone, that there’s still something good in our family. I don’t want to believe Dad could hurt his little girl, not when I found him watching old home videos of her dance recitals a few nights ago, but anything is possible anymore. Especially when you consider the bloodlust in this family.

Killing for money? For a part in a maple syrup business that they still weren’t sure if it would prosper? When people call us blood money, they don’t understand how deep it runs. My great grandfather killed his own brother just to come out on top, to own more, to take more. Is this the kind of life we’ve been living? I feel like I’m reevaluating everything I’ve ever known. Who I thought was  —  my family are murderers, and people I was taught to despise are really my family.

Mom served maple syrup with our pancakes like she does every morning. I got so sick to my stomach I had to be excused. Maple Syrup.  _ Maple Syrup _ . Everything in this stupid town is about maple syrup. Filled with it, a goblet of madness overflowing with something sticky and sweet — but it’s poisonous.

It’s poisoned families like mine. The Coopers. We’re idols, the pinnacle of purposeful perfection  —  god I hate that word  — that the town is supposed to look up to, as someone people aspire to be. My mom always told me, “Betty you have to be the best, because everyone is watching, waiting for you to fail and you can’t. You can’t let them watch you fail”. That poison has taken root in our veins. Our blood runs bitter. Cold. So cold we use our children as props in a perverted game of chess.

It destroys friendships too. I don’t know how Veronica and I have managed to flourish in unfertilized soil. Her family has a lot of dark secrets too. I’m lucky to have her though. I wish she had always been here, but in some ways it feels like she always has. 

And then there’s Jughead.

I haven’t written about Jughead since I was in first grade, when I had my first journal: pink, spiral bound, and covered in Lisa Frank stickers Polly had begged for, which I promptly stole half of. He was so sweet to me. So good. Something pure and innocent despite how hard I knew things were for him. His family life wasn’t easy. It wasn’t hard to tell that, even in Kindergarten when we first met. All his clothes were hand-me-downs and his parents always forgot to pick him up from school. It made me sad, watching him sit alone and reassure Archie that his dad was coming soon, that he had to be coming soon.

If someone were to ask me what made me push Jughead away, I’m not sure I’d like my answer. I did such terrible and cruel things to him, right up until now. And despite it all, he reached out and helped me. It’s not completely out of selflessness. He’s got his own pursuit of knowledge I really admire. He’s like… he’s like some soured hero in a classical noir crime novel.

I shouldn’t be flirting with him. But I am anyway and I can’t stop myself. I like the way he looks at me, like I’m something more than a piece of meat waving pom-poms around during football games. Jughead looks through it all, every Cooper defense mechanism, with those deep blue eyes and I’m back to feeling five years old again, when all I wanted to do was hold his hand and ask him to color me more butterflies.

Mama Cooper didn’t approve. She never did, not of him. He’s the son of FP Jones and whatever bad blood runs between them cuts deeper than any familial fratricide. So she made me push him away, told me he was no good, a nobody. And I believed it. Or maybe I didn’t. I didn’t think he was nothing; I thought he was something really special. But she told me if I hung around with him, the town would hate me, call me dirty. That I would end up like Polly, who liked to hang around older boys and got kissed in 8th grade. In some ways, I wanted to be like Polly. She was smart, beautiful, and she knew how to say no to them  — my parents. She could look at them and just say “no.” There’s a lot of power in two letters when you’ve never mustered up the courage to say them.

When I told Jughead we couldn’t be friends anymore, with a stupid box of chocolates in my hands, I never imagined I’d be bringing him another one, this time imported from France, begging for him to help me find my sister. And I stayed mean to him even then. Hostile for no reason other than fear of what my mom had said. That he would make me dirty.

But he doesn’t. Jughead has the cleanest soul in Riverdale. I want to be baptized by him, touched until I’m pure again, free from whatever hellish curse has been placed on my family. I’m sure it’s deserved. Crazy runs in this bloodline and it scares me. Am I destined to kill Polly like what happened so many years before? Every moment I sit alone with my thoughts I’m more and more terrified of what is to come. Something wicked is hanging over us, waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to come crashing down, like a plague bringing despair upon us. For now, it threads strings of unrest and distrust. Every smile feels fake; every move disingenuous. I don’t know if I trust anyone anymore. No one but Jughead.

But could we even be together? Not just after everything I’ve done to him, but how would people react? As much as I don’t want to be… I’m still governed by my mom. How would I handle dating the self proclaimed loser? I’ve never pictured my life being a typical teenage rom-com before. All that’s left is for me to invite him to prom.

If I did tell him what I felt, what would he say? If I looked at him and said ‘Jughead, I’m sorry. For everything’, do you think he’d give me that stupid smirk of his and kiss me hard until my legs went weak?

Or do you think he’d walk away like I did all those times before?

I’m sorry, Juggie.

I’m so so sorry.

\------------

\----

\--

-

“Betty?” Alice called from the bottom of the grand Thornhill staircase. Her voice could carry anywhere, but the acoustics of their old mansion were nothing to sneeze at. “Come down for supper. We’re having maple glazed ham.”

Never before had she felt so sick to her stomach at the thought of ham. Before today, it had been one of her favorite meals. The sugared glaze melted on her tongue, sending an electric wave of pleasure down her spine that only food could. Her stomach did backflips. There was a protesting gurgle, but she knew her mom would never let her skip out on dinner. Especially after Polly had left. Family dinners were the only time she ever saw her mom and dad together now. Their eldest daughter’s disappearance has shoved a firm wedge in their family dynamic. She feared it was cracked beyond repair.

“I won’t ask again! Come down now!”

“Coming!” Betty hollered, jumping to her feet and pulling her pink silk night robe a little tighter around herself.

She’d had no desire to get out of bed nearly all day. There was that heavy knot in the pit of her stomach, making her feel a constant uneasiness. In a single act of kindness on Alice’s part, she had allowed her daughter  — claiming the flu  — to stay home from school for the day. So there Betty sat, in her most comfortable pajamas, cuddling her pedigree kitten, Caramel. She stroked the cat's orange tabby fur until it grew tired of the affection and went to hide under the bed. The rest of her day was spent writing away in her journal so she could try and sort some of the scattered thoughts in her head.

There was a buzz on her nightstand, nearly vibrating her phone to the carpet. Luckily, she managed to catch it. All day she had been avoiding her phone, worried about what would be on it. No doubt the cheerleaders would be either furious or pleased at the cancellation of today’s practice. Cheryl could find fault in everything she did as captain, still bitter that the title had not been granted to her. For her part, Betty had not made that bitter pill easy to swallow, wearing the HBIC practice t-shirt that had been passed down by the previous Captain.

Seven messages from Veronica, all asking where she was and hoping she was doing okay. One from Cheryl, with a condescending ‘hope you’re not dead’ and a critique to the formation she’d underhandedly had the girls practice anyway. Two were from Reggie asking if a dick pic would make her feel better (the answer to which was a decidedly hard no). And then, at the very top, five minutes ago, was one from Jughead.

_ Hope you get well soon. Call me if you need anything. -Jug _

It always made her laugh that he signed his name at the end of text messages to her, like she would forget who he was. Sadly, it dawned on her that he might really think that. Until recently, she might have been the kind of person who would delete his name and number, uncaring who it hurt. This was the woman her mom wanted her to be, but one Betty wasn’t too proud of.

The halls of Thornhill were especially quiet as she made her way down to the formal dining room. Without the cries of an angry Polly arguing about something, her home felt more empty than ever. Her sister’s ghost still walked the halls, marks from all the places she had ever touched. There was still a small P&B carved into one of the hand rails that their dad had never caught. A patch of wallpaper looked newer than the rest from where she had tossed her shoe into the wall when Jason broke up with her the first time. It was littered with reminders that made the young sister’s heart ache.

The candle lit dinner was just as overly dramatic as was expected of the Cooper clan. They did nothing without a flare for the ridiculously gothic, like some Giotto painting come to life. Wordlessly, she sat beside her dad while her mom served dinner. They ate in silence like they always did these days. Without Polly to fill the dead air, the only thing her parents had to rip apart was her.

“How were your classes today?” Hal asked.

“She didn’t go. Sick all day with the stomach flu. Though you seem fine now Elizabeth. I hope you haven’t decide to become a deviant and skip school just because you’re writing the school newspaper that southsider works on.”

Her stab at Jughead had Betty’s hairs standing on end. “Jughead is really smart mom. And talented as a writer. His parents used to own the newspaper before Hiram bought it, you know.”

“First spending time with the Lodge’s daughter, then becoming head of those ass shaking cheerleaders. You really have no shame do you?” her mother’s jabs cut down to the quick. Any other day, she would have cowered in fear. But there was strength in the knowledge she had.

“I have no shame? Who’s the one who told an eighth grader they couldn’t be friends with someone just because they had family issues? You know I wanted to take that rose home with me but you wouldn’t let me! Told me to give it back to him because no one would want a maple princess who was friends with some  — oh what was the word?  — lowlife? He was thirteen, Mom! He wasn’t a lowlife then and he isn’t now. He’s… he’s great.”

“No, he’s not. I don’t know what’s gotten into your head to cloud your judgement so much but I won’t be having any of it. I still don’t know why you joined that stupid paper. You kept saying how good it would look on college applications, but you’re going for business so you can take on the family business since…” her voice cut low, quieter now, “Since Polly won’t be able to.”

Betty didn’t want to major in business. Had never wanted any part in the family business. Business felt dirty, wrong; day after day she had seen what it could do to people. She watched as her dad deteriorated into a shell of the confident man she remembered from childhood, while her mom shriveled into a Disney Wicked Witch-esque villain. And now she knew the business had caused her great grandfather to murder. 

“No. No I won’t. I’ll go to school for journalism, Mom. Because I really like it  — I like writing. Why else would you send me on that internship if you weren’t going to support me doing this?”

“That was before,” Alice whispered harshly. “Before everything happened. Now behave, Elizabeth, before I have to do what we did to your sister.”

“And what did you do with her, Mom? Did you try to send her to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy again? She told me what happened in that place, how she escaped by breaking out a window and running into the woods. Did you do it again? If I go to the Sisters, am I going to find her there, brainwashed into being some good, obedient girl that you modeled after your own twisted dedication to perfection? No one can be perfect, Mom! Not you, not me, not Polly, not this family!”

Hal finally spoke up, setting his maple flavored whiskey down with a thump. “Are you accusing your mother and I of having something to do with Polly’s disappearance? You’re starting to sound crazy. We would never, ever hurt Polly.”

“And frankly, your accusations are hurtful,” Alice continued.

Betty felt it now, that painful disdainful look her parents always used on Polly when she didn’t fit the mold they had carved out for her. Until now, she had always been able to escape their wrath. The majority of their critical judgement was reserved for the industry heir. With no one left to shield her, all the pressure came down on her shoulders.

Drowning. Up and up the water rose, until her lungs could no longer be filled and her body shook with rage and fear. Under the table, she curled up hands up into tight fists. Nails punctured the skin of her palms. The thrill of pain, release, and control. She was to be in charge of her own pain, not her parents. The only way she could keep herself calm was with the crescent carvings she inflicted upon herself. Digging again and again and again in hopes that one day all the terrible thoughts would finally go away.

They never did.

“Fine. Maybe those are accusations but you know what isn’t? The fact that Great Grandfather Cooper murdered his brother in cold blood. Murdered him right here on this property when it was just starting out as a syrup farm. And why did he murder him? For money! Money! All because he was greedy, he killed his own brother. When were you ever going to tell me we were related to the Blossoms? Never? Or were you going to tuck that gross secret away in hopes that no one ever found out about it  — b ecause you were scared what the town would say if they knew Polly and Jason were cousins and together? Or were you just worried about keeping it hidden so people didn’t accuse us of the truth? That were founded on blood money. That it’s not maple syrup in our trees but blood. Blood of the people we hurt and killed just so we could be on top? We hurt so many people, including each other. And we just keep doing it! Again and again and again! When is it going to stop? With Polly? Or am I going to have kids and fear that one of them is going to stab the other for a bigger part of the Cooper Family Empire? It’s disgusting! This is disgusting!”

“Do not ever raise your voice to me again!” Alice stood. Silver clanked on the table, the ham left forgotten in the center, barely cut into by the matriarch. “You don’t know anything! Where did you even find that out?”

“The newspaper, Mom! Because not everyone in this town is obsessed with image. Some of them want the truth; like me. What happened to Polly? You know something and you aren’t telling me!”

“Enough!” Hal hollered. “Elizabeth, go to your room.  _ Now. _ Alice, stay down here with me and we can talk.”

Betty opened her mouth to argue again, but with one chilling look from her father -- who never raised his voice -- she quickly ran upstairs. But voices carried, and she sat on the landing, craned over as far as she could get to catch the angry whispers of her parent’s heated discussion.

“We have to get that paper burned. Call Hiram and offer to pay him whatever he wants to lose the evidence.”

“Hal, we don't…money… and the Blossoms find…”

It was hard to make out everything that was said. Betty clung to the most important words, mentally etching them into her mind so she could bring them to Jughead. Tonight she would text Ronnie, begging her to sneak in and steal the paper before her parents could destroy the evidence if Jug hadn’t already.

Just as she was about to retreat to her room, satisfied with the little information she had managed to pull from tonight’s disastrous dinner, she heard her sister’s name.

“Polly is…”

Polly was… Polly was where? Where was Polly? Her parents knew. They knew something about her sister and they hadn’t bothered to tell her, even going so far as to hide the information from her. Bit by bit, she watched as walls crumbled around her. Everything was a lie. Her family’s spotless reputation. Her parents loving marriage. And, most of all, her undying trust and loyalty to her mother and father, who she swore, despite all their faults, would do anything to protect their children. Evidently she was wrong.

Monday morning  — or whenever she could make time to meet with Jughead  — she would come up with a plan: how to find more information. Somehow, she needed to find out what they knew about Polly’s whereabouts. She needed a list of possible witnesses, a way to check her parents accounts, anything and everything that could be a clue.

As Betty sat on her silk sheets, tracing along the embroidered daisies, the sinking feeling returned. There was something much more wicked in the works at Thornhill than she could ever have imagined. These haunted halls were filled with tales waiting to be uncovered. And slowly but surely, she would give justice to them, even if it meant invoking the wrath of her parents.

But, there hung the threat of the Sisters. She would have to be quiet, much less confrontation than like tonight at dinner. Another outburst like that and she feared the worst. From what Polly had said, the Sisters of Quiet Mercy was a nightmare home. Every night they prayed on uncooked rice until their knees bleed and they cried and begged for forgiveness. They monitored her phone calls, her visitations. Everything that made her an autonomous person was slowly and systematically stripped away. Polly told her that after a few days, she stopped believing God was real at all.

When she’d finally managed to get home, Betty had been stunned by her sister’s appearance. She was a sickly sort of thing with thin hair and brittle nails. Her spitfire personality was quelled into something dull. Her eyes were wide and lost, darting around like a lost doe scared of being hunted again.

Like always, her parents pretended everything was alright, even when Polly’s behavior got worse. She got back together with Jason and went wild. Some nights she would come home with alcohol heavy on her breath and crawl into Betty’s bed, mascara running down her face from some argument the two of them had gotten into. On the surface--like everything else--their relationship had seemed picture perfect. No one but Betty really knew the pain her sister felt every time Jason looked at another girl; every time he seemed to forget a whispered promise that one day they were going to get married.

Betty hated Jason. With every bone in her body; she hated him. But more and more it was seeming unlikely he had anything to do with her disappearance. Despite it all, Betty was sure that deep down, past his misogynist attitude and rich boy charm, he did love her sister. Sometimes, she would overhear them speak so softly to each other it would warm her heart. (He was never officially allowed at Thornhill and often times it would become Betty’s duty as younger sister to help sneak him in. One time, she’d thought about kicking the ladder right out from underneath him. If it hadn’t been for Polly’s timely interference, she just might have.) Fingers were now pointing directly at an inside job.

Mercifully, her mind began to drift away from a twisted fairytale home life to a boy that made her feel as soft as Jason made Polly. It was strange to think that only few weeks ago she had acted like he was invisible. She remembered the wicked things she had said to Cheryl about him.

_ Only you would stoop so low. _

Funny how things worked. Betty thought of her mother, how furious she would be to learn that her daughter was with a Southsider. Another wave of nausea washed over her, but this time she was unsure if it was hunger or fear.

She picked up her phone, typing in the number she had too quickly memorized by heart. Hitting call, her heart performed a series of backflips, like her ribs were getting a front row seat at a one organ circus. After the second ringt, she hit cancel. 

_ Stupid, stupid Betty. Why would he answer? He’s only helping you because he wants to work on his novel. But if that’s true, why was he flirting back with you at the diner? _

To cleanse some of the messy dinner time madness  — and flirtatious phone anxiety  — she filled the tub with hot water, dropping in a rose scented bath bomb to help her nerves. There was a stack of maple ones as well, all custom ordered with the signature Cooper stamp. She tossed them in the trash before climbing in. Slowly but surely, Betty felt her muscles uncurl. The suds stung the open wounds on her palms, but she knew it was good to disinfect them before she bound them for bed.

Betty wasn’t sure how long she sat in the tub, but by the end she felt refreshed and strengthened. Soon, she was going to have a plan. Soon she was going to have Polly back. With that silent vow, she was reinvigorated to start the day anew tomorrow. Slipping back into her robe, hair braided to keep her signature waves in place, she noticed her phone screen light up with an unread text message.

_ Jughead Jones: _

_ Sorry I missed your call. Took a nap on the couch. You okay?-Jug _

With a shaky breath, she typed her response.

_ Betty Cooper: _

_ Fine. Sorry. I have a lot of stuff to tell you on Monday is all. Hope you have a good weekend. Maybe I’ll see you at Pop’s sometime?  _

_ And, Jug, you don’t have to keep signing your name. I know it’s you. _

With his quick reply came and excited wave of nerves.

_ Jughead Jones: _

_ Sorry, habit. You know where to find me. If you catch me, I’ll make sure to order a coffee milkshake with extra cherries. _

_ Betty Cooper: _

_ You know me too well. _

 

Betty set her phone aside, climbing off her canopy bed to kneel beside her. Under her bed were a myriad of old boxes, left forgotten to rot and dust. They were relics from the past. Near the back was an old tin lunchbox with My Little Pony on it. Beside that, her fourth grade collection of food themed rubber erasers (maybe Jughead would like the smiling cheeseburger one?). And shoved all the way in the corner was her favorite box of all. One she hadn’t looked into for a very long time.

Dusting off the top, she hold her breath to keep from coughing. Written in clumsy inept script was  _ Drawings from Jug. _ Placed delicately on the top by a heartbroken thirteen year old girl who wanted nothing more than to keep that blood red rose, was the first butterfly he had ever colored for her. The crayon wax had faded, making the already muted colors a messy blur. Slowly, she traced along his signature--a single crown above the letters JJ. Each one in the box was signed the same and as she held that cartoon butterfly tight, her heart filled with suffocating nostalgia.

“Oh Juggie. I hope you can forgive me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments! constructive criticism is always a-okay by me too!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b


	6. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead woke up with a start. Trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, he picked up his phone to check the time. It wasn’t too late, just past his usual dinner time—which, to be fair, was probably far later than a nutritionists recommendations—but he noticed a missed call from none other than the Maple Princess herself: Betty Cooper. She hadn’t left a voice message but the simple fact that she called sent his heart right back into palpitations.
> 
> Don’t open your heart up too quickly, Jones. Remember what happened last time?
> 
> -or-
> 
> Jughead and Betty share an intimate moment in the Blue and Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been such a long time coming. It was one easily one of my favorites to write and I'm sure you'll soon figure out why <3 Thanks as always to my beta @lilibug--xx. And thanks to you all for being the greatest and loving this fic as much as you do. Also take a look at what my really good friend made for this fic. [INSTA EDIT](http://anasteeles.tumblr.com/post/173045988824/social-media-au-for-sticky-sweet-serenade-by)
> 
> Also just for future reference: I'm not sure when I'll be able to update. it's still going to try and be once a week, but the date may vary just because I'm going through a lot of personal stuff right now! Thanks for being so patient.

There are a lot of secrets in Riverdale that not everyone knows. It would be easy for an out of towner to drive right on through and never dig beneath the living wax museum exterior. When they’re out getting a haircut at the local salon they might overhear someone whisper about Sheriff Keller and his deployed wife’s rocky relationship. Rumor has it, that he’s been hanging around a lot at Lawyer McCoy’s house to install “special security systems” that when taking a second glance, have what seem to be sexual implications. In the grocery store — always near the produce section — you might see Grenadline Grundy, faculty of Riverdale High’s music department, chatting up a young teen boy with hunger in her eyes for more than just phallic shaped vegetables. Even a certain PTA president’s apple pie at the school fundraiser becomes a topic of deep conversation because ‘ _ Linda, did you try the crust, it was far too dry’. _

In a small town, there isn’t much else to do but gossip, scandals are the life support. They keep the faintly beating heart tethered with a faint grasp on reality (I wait with bated breath for the plug to be pulled). I have a theory that half the town is so rooted in their century old family homes because moving away would mean having to learn a new set of gossip standards to live by. Everyone has been here since the foundation of Riverdale, and those who manage to escape — even briefly — always end up coming back. 

(Sometimes, fear sits in the pit of my stomach, that I won’t ever be able to leave. The only Jones family member to ever get out of Riverdale will be Jellybean. I’m thankful her small body won’t be littered with the painful welts and scars this community often leaves on its victims. We’re all stuck in some absurdist noir film and the only thing you can do is try to claw your way out or — like a few lost souls washed up on the edge of the Sweetwater River — die trying.)

The Lodges are a prime example of the outstanding pull Riverdale has on its inhabitants. They burst out of the fragile bubble and into the New York scene. A beautiful fashion socialite and a business fox — who would have thought that they would end up sliding right back into the mud with the rest of us? Hiram narrowly avoided an arrest after his company, Lodge Industries, came under legal fire for illicit activities with company funds and a more scandalous accusation of embezzlement from a “few employees”. But if there’s one thing that family has it’s charisma; a unique ability to convince others to fall loyally on the sword so they can make their grand escape to greener and more grand pastures.

There were plenty of secrets the Lodges didn’t want anyone to know. They once paid my dad and his group of gang bangers to trash an old building so it could be sold to them at a cheaper price. I would find it hard to believe that it was pure coincidence that lead them to my dad, owner of the only newspaper in Riverdale and desperate to make as much quick cash as he could under the table. They bought the Register to shut it up, to sew Lady Justice’s mouth shut — making her blind and mute — and drastically cut the spread of unwarranted information . All media consumption must first have been filtered through them. But luck had long since left any and all of Riverdale’s founding families and keeping anything a secret for long in this town was impossible, with all the gossips and snoops that litter our streets. Without a little uninterested dribble what else was Grandma Tate supposed to do in her spare time?

“Rumor has it” might be a better slogan than “the town with pep!” I would never bet against a man who claimed there was a conversation in every pocket of town that started that way; from the rich in the lap of luxury to the folks lighting up at the Wyrm, everyone was always busy with a rumor on their tongue. People need a way to lift blame off their shoulders if any of the information they spread is false — and it almost always is. Like politicians tacking “allegedly” on the ends of their slanderous speeches, Riverdalians have mastered the art of hushed backhanded insults. First place would go to Alice Cooper, with Penelope Blossom and Hermione Lodge not far behind.

With all the gossip in this town, it’s insane to think a secret like the Blossom-Cooper relation could have been swept so easily under the rug. My great-grandfather published the story once, but after that, Veronica and I couldn’t find any more records of the incident in the archives. If the police reports weren’t eaten into bits by moths by now, they were certainly sealed. There was no way to dig deeper into the criminal logistics of the case  — no rumors, no whispers, not even from the most “unreliable” of sources, known for their out-the-box and bizarre theories. Conclusion: a cover up — perhaps the first but undoubtedly not the last of its kind. If there was anyone who knew, they kept it close to their chest, locked with two invisible ink codes, one Russian puzzle, and a fifty part multiple choice questionnaire.

A perk of being invisible to anyone and everyone you come in contact with: being a watchful wallflower. I don’t cling to hallway gossip like it’s some sort of bible I can go around thumping when the end of days approaches. Most high school melodrama doesn’t interest me. But every now and again, I’ll catch a thread of something and follow it forward until there’s an intricate story woven out in front of me like a Grecian tapestry. Working in journalism, that kind of trait pays off. Had any of the Blossoms known their connections to the Coopers, Cheryl would have taken to the streets, organizing a parade to honor their fallen privilege and class. There would have been a trending hashtag from @CherylBomshell herself and three Snapchat geotags to go alongside it.

In all of Riverdale High’s history, the longest secret ever kept was for four months. Midge had caught Kevin and Moose cruising together in Evergreen Woods. Collectively, they had tried to keep it under wraps, but when a gossip, a meat head, and a girl who’s too sweet for her own good make a pact, it is very rarely followed through. Reggie, sensing a disturbance in his Bull Dogs hounded them until everything came tumbling out.

To make a secret — and to keep it — you have to have something you are afraid of. If something fills you with pride it isn’t a secret; it’s human nature to flaunt our accomplishments. When you whisper in the ear of a friend that you’ve been cast as lead in the fall play, you expect the world to know within minutes. There is something so odd in the human experience, where we crave that recognition, even for the bad and ugly, so desperately that we can fall prey to the secret loop. A successful secret is one you keep to yourself. Otherwise, it’s sure to make itself known everywhere. Seeping into the floorboards until all that’s heard late at night is the squeaking groans of whatever tight lipped information got babbled away.

Perhaps my bitterness comes from a lack of understanding. There were never moments for me, huddled up during sleepovers, where me and my closest friends — I only ever had one — would exchange juicy bits of gossip. Archie, for his part as perfect boy next door, always tried to get me interested, recounting tales of his middle school conquests. Like when his braces nearly got stuck to Midge’s. Despite my innate curiosity for the complex world, town nonsense never interested me and there was nothing in my home life I wanted to share  — or I guess, felt comfortable with sharing. When you’re eleven years old, telling your best friend that you think your world might be falling apart feels like it might as well ensure it.

But there’s only so long someone can run from the inevitable. There was a weight of knowledge that I couldn’t release pressing on my shoulders incessantly. I couldn’t sit at the editor's desk of the Blue and Gold and write and write until the world made sense again. Not this time. Whatever we had stumbled upon was not my story to share. Betty, in time, would come around to her reality. And my role was to try and help her weather whatever storm was to come. I knew all too intimately what it felt like to be lied to by a parent who swore they only ever wanted what they thought best.

Once you’ve started keeping secrets, it becomes easier and easier to get them, until the pile is so big it’s impossible to short through them. The biggest fear is they might finally collapse and spill forward, overwhelming until it snuffs you out of existence. Over the next few months, my life would spiral into a pit of dark findings and quiet confessions, pulled  _ down, down, down _ into the depths by the unsteady, desperate grasp of Elizabeth Cooper  — a hand I never wanted to let go of.

\-------------

\---------

\------

\----

-

Betty didn’t come to school the day after their discovery. Jughead couldn’t blame her. Had he just found out he was related to the Blossoms, he probably would have decided to sit at home and process the news as well. Daring to ignore status quo to look out for her bestie, Veronica approached him in the halls, gripping his arm so tightly with her perfectly manicured nails, he was sure his skin would be bruised for the next week. They retreated into the solitude of an empty classroom to exchange information.

“I haven’t heard from Betty,” Veronica said, worry obvious in her tone and the way she shifted from side to side in her heels that cost more than his entire Goodwill wardrobe.

“And you expect me to have?”

Their relationship was still ill defined. All the flirting, especially so blatant at the diner, had put a big question mark on everything. For a long time he was convinced Betty wanted nothing to do with him. He had been tossed to the side, an irrelevant picture from her formative years, a stepping stone to bigger and better things. But now it felt like she was pulling him towards her again. They were on a slingshot trajectory towards one another and it wouldn’t be too long until they collided again. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

“You two have gotten closer. I thought maybe since the weird Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes vibes you two had going on she might have talked to you about how she’s doing. She won’t answer my calls or my texts and normally Mama Cooper would never let her stay home.”

“What  — do you think her parents murdered her in some gothic horror twist?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jones, but Riverdale is starting to spiral towards Stephen King levels of fucked up. The Blossoms and the Coopers are related and are part of a maple syrup blood feud. Maple syrup! They couldn’t think of anything else to be angry about? Jesus, why did we move here?” The last question was directed to the ceiling as Veronica crossed her arms.

Jughead shook his head. “Something about this place, it’s like a black hole, sucking everything into a giant pit of nothingness.”

The bell rang out a shrill cry, forcing the unlikely duo to separate for the remainder of the school day. Jughead tried to ignore the nagging worry in the back of his mind. If Betty wanted help, she seemed the type to ask for it. But she lingered in his mind at every moment. The Blue and Gold still smelt like her lavender shampoo. He was finishing up her latest article for print on Tuesday and all around him were little imprints of her. There was even a single blonde hair resting in the sherpa lining of his jacket.

As the hours ticked on, he found himself unable to focus. Even the binge rewatch of the Twilight Zone couldn’t keep his thoughts occupied and away from worry about a certain curly blonde ponytail. His gaze kept darting back to his phone, disappointed every time he found the screen empty. 

Unable to shake the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jughead turned up the volume on Rod Sterling’s voice and allowed himself to tumble back in time for a moment. Archie used to make him play these stupid games at sleepovers, where he’d say “pick a dude” and Jughead would have to pick a celebrity off the top of his head to have sex with. (Looking back on it now, the homoerotic undertones of those nights were almost suffocatingly apparent.) Every time he would said Rod  — every time Archie asked, “Who is that again?” and Jughead would moan about his uncultured friend  — and the redhead in the bed above him would answer was Chris Pratt.

Eventually he was lulled to sleep, lost in the hazy fog that always seemed ever present during Friday afternoons. The nap was needed but filled with Lewis Carroll acid-trip dreams that would forever haunt him into his waking moments. Teacups filled to the brim with blood, the sound of a cackling Queen with whiskey on her breath, a pretty blonde rabbit he chased but never could quite catch up to.

Jughead woke up with a start. Trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, he picked up his phone to check the time. It wasn’t too late, just past his usual dinner time — which, to be fair, was probably far later than a nutritionists recommendations — but he noticed a missed call from none other than the Maple Princess herself: Betty Cooper. She hadn’t left a voice message but the simple fact that she called sent his heart right back into palpitations.

_ Don’t open your heart up too quickly, Jones. Remember what happened last time? _

But it was impossible to stop something when it was already falling and if he was going to crack and splinter when he hit the ground, at least it would feel better than sweeping his feelings up under the rug for a few more years until they rotted him from the inside out. It took a few tries, but he eventually crafted a text he was content with and sent it into the ether.

They didn’t talk for long, just enough for him to know she was safe and feeling better  — and miss her as he curled up on the Blue and Gold couch, holding his breath as he waited for the janitors to finish up without catching him. The weekend janitors weren’t as nice as Old Man Smithers, who always took pity on Jughead’s series of unfortunate events. He had once even offered him a place on his couch. Pride overruled survival instinct and the kind gesture was turned down in favor of heated microwave ramen and a couch that had seen more action in its days than three Archie’s combined.

The weekend brought even more Betty related surprises. It seemed she wasn’t just satisfied with their Friday correspondance. Saturday morning he woke up to a text from her wishing him a good day. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jughead was surprised to find that the heart emoji next to it was not part of some elaborate fever dream but a very real part of his current reality.

**_Betty Cooper:_ **

_ What’s your Pop’s order? I’m bringing it to you Monday morning, including a large coffee milkshake with extra cherries. And no arguments, this is my thank you for helping me out with everything. _

**_Jughead Jones:_ **

_ I can’t say no to free food. Double bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries and onion rings. _

**_Betty Cooper:_ **

_ How are your arteries not made of trans fats and fry grease? _

**_Jughead Jones:_ **

_ I’m a growing boy, Betts. And if how I go is with a burger in one hand and a shake in the other, then at least I died doing what I loved. _

**_Betty Cooper:_ **

_ Eating? _

**_Jughead Jones:_ **

_ Eating. _

The weekend flew by quicker than it normally did when he wasn’t stuffed away in a classroom with only his own thoughts and body odor to keep him company  — and remind him it was time to sneak out and take a shower in the Riverdale High locker rooms. Sometimes the football players would be there to practice early, so he did his best to stay out of their way. Either by showering in the dead of night — looking like a spectare with his lily white skin — or early enough that the sun had yet to rise.

Soon enough it was Monday morning. Jughead did what he always did: snuck out so he could come back in when the school opened for “official” business. He was always the first one on sight, but hardly anyone paid attention to him. The room was exactly how it had been when he left thirty minutes before. Including the heavy scent from his weekend hide away. Jughead pulled out the air freshener he kept laying around — Tropical Breeze, stolen from Archie’s living room when Jughead had first moved in — and tried to make the room more bearable for Betty’s arrival.

He was surprised when, in the midst of his misting, she walked through the door, holding a cupholder of milkshakes and a bag with the signature Pop’s logo. Jughead perked up, eyes going wide with excitement. His stomach gave a loud groan of unhappiness. It had been almost three days since he had eaten anything of real substance.

“I arrive bearing gifts,” Betty smiled and set her bounty on the editor's desk he was perched on. “I hope my offerings please you?”

Immediately, he was greeted with the mouthwatering smell of a Pop’s burger. No man could make it better. He dug around in the bag before pulling it out, quickly scarfing down an entire half of the dripping, greasy burger. “More than. You’re a hero, Betty Cooper.”

She rolled her eyes and sat beside him, picking up the small bag of fries to munch on. “I never pictured you as an onion rings guy, Juggie.”

“I’m a man of many talents and many loves. You mean to tell me you can say no to any kind of fried food? Potatoes or onions? I can’t pick just one.”

Betty laughed and they sat together in comfortable silence. In his peripheral vision, Jughead saw her move ever so slowly closer. Inch by inch until their hands were almost touching, evident against the faux wood grain of the desk. Her pinky cautiously brushed his. Her breath went unsteady and suddenly she was looking at her greasy diner food like it was the only thing in the room. He knew better. He could barely contain the heavy thumping of his heart, threatening to break through his ribcage and wax poetry for her right then and there.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, swallowing the last bit of burger, not daring to reach for the onion rings in fear their moment might be broken forever, the universe never again offering him a chance like this.

“Okay. I wasn’t on Friday. I got into a fight with my parents and I think they know something but they aren’t telling me. In fact, I know it. They were talking about Polly after I grilled them about the Blossoms being our cousins and it sounded like they knew where she was. I don’t... I need a plan to figure it out. I can’t ask them directly or they might send me to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy to shut me up.”

“What’s that?”

Jughead never claimed to be the king of comforting, but he took a chance, reaching forward to close the distance between their hands. She was so small in his grasp. He could feel the sharp point of her sculpted nails, the healing indents on her palms, and the delicate way she took strength from his squeeze.

“It’s a home for wayward youth. They sent Polly there once when her and Jason broke up briefly, but she ended up running away and they couldn’t force her to go back in. She just threatened to keep running if they did. But Jug, I heard it was awful. She was terrified when she came back, shaken and she couldn’t think straight for weeks. She was constantly worried someone was going to take her back. She slept in my room for three weeks before she finally felt okay enough to go into her own space. I had to get out the old night light and promise her she was safe every night. It was crushing. And then just as things were starting to get better, she was back with Jason, living her life, applying to colleges, she got taken again. Only this time I don’t know where my parents put her. But I’m sure it was them, I’m sure of it. It has to be. Who else would send her away like that? Who else would take her?”

“We can’t rule out it was the Blossoms but... I think that you’re definitely onto something here Betts. If she was sent to The Sisters there would be receipts of it right? How do your parents normally pay for things like that?”

Her eyes lit up, filled with a new life. “Yes. Oh my God, Juggie, you’re a genius. My mom pays for everything with the family checkbook and I always see her pulling it out of her purse to balance it. Even if she paid someone in cash it would be written down on there somewhere.”

“We could figure it out so I could distract her one morning. I mean, I bet my presence at Thornhill could probably do that. She’d be so appalled by a raggedy hobo showing up at her place she might faint.”

“Don’t call yourself that!” her voice was quiet, harsh, all the laughter and mirth from before gone. “Because you aren’t. I know... I know I used to say those things to you and they were awful. Awful and cruel and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I came up with... I wrote this stupid speech in my diary about how I was going to apologize to you. I practiced it in the mirror. I’d show up with Pop’s and right out the gate I would get on my knees and beg for you to forgive me for everything. And maybe I would get lucky and you would forgive me enough to keep helping me find my sister, or even, at the very least, let me keep writing for the Blue and Gold. But I didn’t even have to do that and you offered anyway. Because you’re something so good Jughead Jones. You’re good and bright and pure and I’ve got all this horrible darkness surrounding me that I can’t seem to escape. And then I’m with you and it all just fades away. When we were at Pop’s, I wasn’t scared of what we would find at the Register. And right now I’m not scared either. I don’t think I could ever be scared next to you.”

Jughead felt his body melt. All he could think about was Betty and how vulnerable she was, presenting herself with an open nervous heart. He could tell she expected him to throw it to the ground, crush it with the heel of his boot and ask her to leave. Maybe during his most bitter of days he would have, but now there wasn’t a day that went by that wasn’t consumed with thoughts of her. Underneath it all, he could still see the bright little girl who wanted to be loved.

And him? Maybe he was that same little boy too, terrified with his heart on display for one and only one person, craving to mean something more than a street urchin to be ignored. Together, he was sure, they could be something beautiful.

“Jughead, I…” 

His silence had scared her into retreating, he could see it in her eyes. She pulled her hand back, tears threatening to spill from those beautiful green seas. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me…”

He hopped off the desk, stepping forward towards her, cupping her cheeks so he could pull her into a deep kiss. Their lips met with sparks. She folded against him, er hands tangled in the his jean jacket, knees shaking as the weight of his affections for her consumed them both like a tidal wave speeding over a beach city shoreline.

They stood there, pressed together, for what felt like decades and only seconds all at once. When she pulled away from him, he followed her, bringing them back together for another hungry kiss. Finally, out of breath, they pulled apart. Betty looked up at him and gave him the prettiest smile he had ever seen before.

“You kissed me.”

“I did. And you liked it.”

“I did.”

It was stupid and silly — like something right out of a 1980s John Hughes romantic comedy starring Molly Ringwald—but they stood there grinning. He leaned forward and planted one more soft kiss to her pretty pale pink lips.

“I really like you Juggie,” Betty said softly, taking his hand. “And I was so stupid for so long. I just wanted to apologize again for what I did. Because it wasn’t fair. It’s no excuse for how cruel I was, but my mom... she made me pull back from you. She said such stupid, ugly things and I was young and I believed her but I shouldn’t have. You are so spectacular and I can’t believe I almost let her hate steal something good from me.

“And because of her, I can’t date you like I want to. Not yet anyway. Not when I’ve been asking her so many questions and pushing all her buttons. It’s not safe. If she found out... they might ship me away too. I have to play the part of the perfect obedient daughter right now and my mom hates your dad for some reason. I don’t want to risk not finding out what happened to Polly. I hope you can understand and forgive me for that too.”

“I’ll add it to the list.” Jughead was gentle with her. He pulled her close, running a hand through her ponytail to help calm her frazzled nerves. “I’m not mad. I trust you on this one. If you say it’s not safe then I believe you. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt. So we’ll just... keep it nonchalant. Have things be how they always were. You work for the Blue and Gold with me and maybe sometimes we’ll end up locking the door and I’ll get to kiss you again?” His eyes were hopeful, studying her face.

Betty laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I like the sound of that. You are so amazing. Not many people would be okay with a secret dating relationship trope right out the gate.”

“Please. That combined with a mystery? That’s my crack. You’ve snagged me, Cooper. Just…” he lets his armor crack just a fraction, “Be careful with my heart this time?”

“Oh Juggie. I promise I won’t hurt you again. I could never. I’ll try not to be as cruel in the hallways. Maybe it’s even better if I try my best to ignore you? Otherwise someone might try and drag me into taunting you and I don’t know if I can do that anymore and make it believable. It hurt before, but now? God, it sounds horrible. At least Veronica knows that you helped me out at the Register so she’ll be good at buffering things.”

“Stop overthinking. We’ll figure this out. I’ve got tough skin and I’m not an idiot. If you have to call me a few names to make it more realistic, then okay. Sure. I’ll survive. That probably wouldn’t be as bad as you getting shipped off and having to reenact an all girls cast of  _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest _ .”

“You have a reference for everything don’t you?”

“You should see me play Monopoly. Nothing but lines from the  _ Communist Manifesto. _ ” Betty rolled her eyes at his bad joke, but he could tell she liked his gentle teasing. He kissed her forehead. “We’ll come up with a plan to figure out what your parents are hiding. Come to the Blue and Gold after school and we can break out the mystery board and a pot of shitty school newspaper coffee.”

“Oh, you certainly know how to treat a woman right.”

That stupid bell, always ringing at the worst of times and crushing his soul. He could have spent hours there, tangled together in the office, learning and exploring one another. Betty wiped the lipstick from him before running off to join her fellow cheerleaders for their early morning practice block. 

This time it wasn’t scary watching her walk away. Jughead knew she would come back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 7: A Rock and a Hard Place


	7. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected friend surprises Jughead at Pop's chocolate shop and Betty is forced to say some hurtful things to keep her cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna thank my beta reader every time @lilibug--xx for being supportive. You're awesome. She also said this chapter is really fluffy and sweet so we get a little break from most of the angst and mystery on this one! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy <3
> 
> Also, if you guys could help me out with something that would be amazing. i have this idea for a fic and i asked about it on tumblr so if you could let me know your interest that would be amazing: [here](http://tory-b.tumblr.com/post/173387340545/fanfic-idea-question)

Every year, in a cultish exhibition of our town’s devotion to sugar sweet maple sap, Riverdale would hold the annual Cooper™  — you’re naive if you don’t think they trademarked it  — Maple Parade. It’s unnecessary and overindulgent in the way that only America can be. Booths littered the streets, all serving some drenched product. Pop brings out his special Maple Milkshakes. The one place in town that knows how to properly fry funnel cakes (sorry Pop) covers their twisted bread in powdered sugar and warm maple butter sauce. Even the savory street foods like pretzels, hot dogs, and burgers were coated in some kind of maple syrup concoction.

The foods were nice, but the reason most people stuffed into Pickens Park on a chilly December afternoon wasn’t the barely safe rusted rides; It was the Maple Princess Crowning. While the title held no real power, the pageant was something girls of all ages practiced for months to participate in.

Little Maple Princess was for girls ages 1-4, who would get on stage in pretty outfits their mothers had wrestled them into and smile as wide as they could (4 out of 4 crowns for Betty). Petite Maple Princess, 5-8, involved a bit more competition, including a talent portion that usually involved a horrible lip sync of an outdated Britney Spears song or a ribbon toss that always landed in the audience (Betty danced her way to another 3 flawless victories). Junior Maple Princess for 9-14 year olds, just starting to discover themselves and began producing talents that were much more difficult and no less difficult to watch (Betty had come down with a nasty flu in seventh grade that had left her unable to compete, gifting Cheryl with the only crown she’d ever had). All of these were precursors to the main prize: Royal Maple Princess, for girls 15-18. Gone were the silly pagentries for little girls, replaced by a regal walk and a speech to put the town to sleep.

I can still remember the first time I ever watched a crowning, stuffed in between my mother and little Jellybean, who was so excited to look at the dresses. She had asked three times if maybe one day she could be up there too. No one answered her. The reality of class separation was more apparent on days like that than ever. We, the poor, who had barely scrounged up enough under the cushion change to make it to the event, watched with handfuls of overpriced cinnamon rolls while being reminded that they, the wealthy, would always be better than us in every conceivable way. 

I didn’t pay much attention to the first set of girls, or the second. The sugary maple syrup stuck to the bottom of the Pop’s paper cup held my attention much better than any sort of pink dress twirls and over excited screams. But then I heard her name, the one that always caught me off guard and peaked my interest no matter how hard I fought against it. I sat closer to the edge of the beige folding chair, trying to get a better look. She was a vision in a pearled red and white gown. Tulle pooled on the hardwood stage floor as she looked on over the audience, grinning through a single missing tooth. I remember thinking we matched, a crown on each our heads. But Betty looked like a princess in hers and I was just some lonely boy with an irony knit cap.

Honestly, it baffles me how the competition hasn’t been called off yet. But every year girls sign their name right next to Betty Cooper’s, the reigning champion with no desire to lose her title. (I imagine what her room looks like, a myriad of glittering crowns and satin sashes lining her shelves.) Among them is always Cheryl Blossom. Resentful, bitter, and desperate to win the crown just one more time.

The Cooper-Blossom feud takes root in every aspect of Riverdalian society. Cheryl would sit on stage, her head held high, waiting for the judges to place that glittering maple leaf crown on her head. Rumor has it  — doesn’t it always  — that she’s the reason Betty came down with the flu the day of the pageant a few years back. It was the only crown she had ever earned. That wasn’t the only act of sabotage she had taken part in. As frustrations rose, wicked games began to be at play.

There were a few times Cheryl had been caught sneaking into Betty’s dressing room with a pair of scissors. Freshman year of high school, she had tried to trip her on the main stage while Betty was walking to get crowned. The bitterness, the resentment  — the audience could practically taste it. Maybe it was that drama that kept the massive crowd coming back for the same song and dance show that Betty Cooper would always win.

“They just want to get on her good side,” I had overheard Cheryl the day after one crowning. “They’re worried if they don’t crown her, her parents will fire them or something. It’s so stupid. It’s rigged.”

When her friend Ginger had asked, “Then why do you keep doing it?” Cheryl had slapped her and stomped away.

The annual Maple Princess Pageant certainly brought out the worst in people. But for some it brought out the best. Every winter when the chill set in, and the posters hung, the creeping sense of unrest arises again as whispers of the crown come to the forefront of the gossip circles. This year  — like all the others  — belonged to Betty. But the world sat with bated breath, waiting for her to fail, praying for her slightest misstep so they could watch her tumble down from the impossibly high pedestal she had been placed on by her mother, by her school, by the entire town.

With all eyes on her, the path our heroine was destined to tread was tumultuous. Combined with our whispered affair and the ongoing hunt for her sister, nothing was going to be easy.

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Jughead picked up the forgotten flyer from the ground, squinting at the printed black font on the pastel blue background. The script was hard to read, but judging by the way his breath billowed up in frozen smoke and the whispers from other Riverdale High Students, the annual Maple Princess Pageant had finally been announced. There had been a few whispers that it would be cancelled this year. The Coopers always contributed the biggest donations to the festival and with the Polly missing, people feared they would be far too busy. But they were nothing if not a family of the people. Alice’s motto may as well have been ‘on with the show’ for how quickly she promoted the affair. With eyes on their youngest daughter, the public might finally end the gossip about their missing one.

With the announcement of the event, Betty  — his girlfriend? Friend with benefits? Lady that he occasionally kissed?  — had been too busy to spend much time in the office. Occasionally she would pop in to give him a morning croissant and a kiss, but any conversations they hoped to have were often interrupted by someone on the staff with a question, or ill informed Veronica who didn’t know they wanted privacy. Her articles were on time and didn’t often need much editing past the occasional ‘Betty what are you trying to say here?’ that came with a writer lost in the throws of sleep deprivation. There wasn’t much time to come up with a plan like they’d wanted when Alice Cooper was running her around to every dance practice and baton twirling class that was offered in a 20 mile radius of Riverdale.

He stuffed the flyer in his pocket before quickly shuffling into the diner, where he would spend the rest of his day typing away at a document that never had all the answers he wanted. At least the diner was warm, unlike the school which refused heating after school hours had passed. Quickly, the Blue and Gold office had become an ice box he could barely stand to live in.

“Need a refill, Jug?” Pop Tate asked, already pouring the steaming hot coffee into his favorite customer’s cup.

The boy nodded in gratitude, pulling his fingers off the keyboard for a moment of rest. Not that much work was actually getting done. For most of the day he’d been fighting a terrible case of writer’s block. Of course there were things he wanted to say, things he wanted to mention (a certain girl’s beauty he wanted to wax poetry about), but nothing was coming out the way he wanted it to. Every semicolon, adverb, and noun in the English language was against him today and every sentence was an uphill battle Jughead was starting to think he was losing.

“Thanks Pop. You’re a life saver.”

He sat the flyer aside. There had been a stack of them on every booth in the diner  — a gratuitous waste of paper that only a further exemplified the white middle class privilege that plagued his hometown. The Southside was lucky if it even got one of them. Not that any Southside girls bothered to participate. Parading around for Northside enjoyment was far below their standards of an enjoyable weekend. If any of them even went to the festival it would be on stolen tickets to protest the establishment.

The diner bell chimed and in came the River Vixens, waving their blue and gold pom-poms around in celebration. Judging by the smiles and cheers tonight’s football game had been won. He didn’t pay much attention to anyone until he spotted that familiar flip of a signature gold ponytail. As Captain, she entered last, arm-in-arm with Veronica Lodge, the football team - — thankfully out of their smelly, grass stained uniforms  — following close behind.

Betty laughed and looked around the room. She spotted him almost immediately, the smell of her vanilla perfume wafting through the air towards him. They shared an intimate smile and Jughead lifted his cup of coffee to congratulate her before taking a drink. Her eyes didn’t leave his utill Veronica pulled them apart, guiding her best friend to a table not too far away currently filled with other cheerleaders excited about the evening’s events.

Maybe it wasn’t right to listen in. Jughead had always been taught that conversations he wasn’t directly apart of were not his business. But then again, he had been taught a lot of things that didn’t really matter to him any more. Pretending to pay attention to the blinking cursor on his laptop screen, he trained his ears on the group of girls in the cherry red and snow white vinyl booths.

“Are you going to compete again this year?” Ginger asked, holding up the flyer for the festival.

Betty nodded and stirred the vanilla shake Pop had set out in front of her. She smiled gratefully at him before turning back to her colleague. “Yeah I am. I do it every year. I always feel really lucky to be able to compete with so many talented girls. I just hope I can do well again this year.”

“Oh please. You’re so modest it makes me sick,” Cheryl rolled her eyes. Her eyes were sharp, cherry sitting uneaten on her napkin, staining it red. “Save the fluff for the judges. But when I win this year, dear Elizabeth, my acceptance speech will be all about how lucky we are that Polly isn’t around to poison us anymore.”

“Shut up, Queen of the Damned,” Veronica bit back. Jughead was glad Betty had her around to take care of things when he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure how they would all react to him standing up for her.

“I’m sorry, dirty money, I don’t believe I asked for your opinion. Betty just doesn’t have it in her anymore to win. You need to be cutthroat to make it in the pageant industry and she’s softened up like warm butter. How else can you explain her being able to tolerate Jughead Jones’ company enough to write for him? Unless there’s something much more scandalous going on behind the scenes and she’s decided to play around in the mud. That was one thing about Polly, at least she had better taste than you.”

Before anyone could come to her defense, Betty shook her head and spoke up. “Enough Cheryl. I’m not going to play your games tonight. You can think whatever you want but you and everyone else knows that I would never do something like that. I have a reputation to uphold here and I can’t go ruining it.”

Jughead tired not to hiss. Her words stun, but not as much as they would have before. Now things were different. She wasn’t being cruel to hurt him, this was all an elaborate act, a game of chess they had to play with Mrs. Cooper so Betty wouldn’t be sent away and the two of them could continue whatever song and dance they were practicing.

She was doing well. A vulture like Cheryl Blossom was good at sensing lies, fear, anything that could give away an act. But Betty stayed steadfast and strong, drinking down her milkshake with nothing but boredom in her eyes. The slightest twitch of her hands was the only giveaway.

Their conversation was lost to him when the diner bell rang again and in walked a phantom he hadn’t seen in ages. Toni Topaz, wearing her leather proudly and her pink hair braided, walked into the Northside hub of Riverdale. The silence it brought seemed to delight her. As far as Jughead knew, there was nothing Toni liked more than causing a ruckus. She grinned when her eyes fell on him, tucked away in a booth trying to blend in with the wall like he always did. She sashayed over and took a seat across from him, plucking a fry off his plate. Most of the other patrons went back to their busy conversations, but Jughead could feel Betty’s gaze on them. Something about that delighted him.

“Hey T, long time no see. You’re not usually on the Northside.”

Mostly, Toni rode with the Serpents. It was how they had met. During the brief period of sobriety after Gladys had left, FP had offered her residence on their pull out couch. It wasn’t much, but there were a lot of late nights they spent together watching documentaries on the Trailer Park communal wifi and Tall Boy’s stolen Netflix password. She understood the neglectful father figure. After an incident locking both her parents up, Toni had been forced to find solace with her uncle, a man who neither wanted her presence, nor cared if she had nowhere to sleep.

On the floor of that trailer, they had also stolen each other’s first kisses  — a long list in an alarming number of mistakes they made together. After a failed attempt at dating, the two of them had fallen into a comfortable friendship that thrived even when stuck at different schools. Even then, she was completely unaware of the secret Blue and Gold exchanges between him and Northside royalty. Not only would she have his head on a platter if she were to find out, but the less people knowing meant the less likely it was to escape before they wanted it to.

“Thought I’d stir up a little trouble,” she admitted with a shrug. “And I did just that. Besides, I know this is your usual haunt and we haven't seen each other in awhile. You still crashing on the high school newspaper’s couch?”

“Yeah. It’s not a lot but I can’t be at home anymore.”

He didn’t need to say anymore. She simply nodded in understanding. “Well Sweet Pea, Fangs, and I have saved up enough for an apartment. It’s Southside, it’s shitty, but there’s no parental obligations to deal with. If you get tired of sleeping on that shitty couch you can come crash on our shitty couch.”

Sweet Pea and Jughead had never properly gotten along. He claimed that Jughead was “running away” from his Serpent heritage and when it finally caught up to him, it would bite him in the ass. While both parts were probably equally true, Jughead would rather take his chances trying to escape his dad’s mistakes than run with them. Still, the offer was nice and, coming from Toni, he knew it was genuine.

“Thanks. I’ll think on it. I’m pretty content hiding my back in the bushes late at night so no one catches me but I appreciate the offer. But you could have just texted me that. Why are you really here?”

“I’ll tell you over a round of shakes. You’re buying.”

“When am I not buying?”

It turned out that Serpent business brought her across the tracks. There was a deal for some weed for an after party  — surprising to no one, the order came from Reggie Mantle  — due to a Bulldog win. Jughead tried to pay attention to the way she described his asshole attitude and how she had nearly pushed his pretty boy face through his expensive vintage headlights, but his eyes kept wandering to where Betty was sitting. Her uniform was clinging to her delicate frame in such a way it made his head spin. Would she be at the party tonight? Smoking with the football players while her friend encouraged her to move past Archie and try a different flavor of guy? What would her response be to them?

“Jones!” Toni clapped loudly, pulling him from his contemplative haze. “Jesus. Keep your eyes on me, not some Northside girl group.” Not following her own advice, those brown eyes drifted behind them, falling straight on the Chaos Demon herself, Cheryl Blossom.

Jughead knew that expression and quickly jumped in to silence those spinning cogs. “No. Nope. Do not, Toni. That’s Cheryl and you do not want to mess around with that. I know you’ve got this intense need to tame things but that’s one girl who will cut you into a million pieces.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared so much about me. It’s touching, really. Besides, I’m just admiring. I didn’t say anything about going over there and actually touching. Don’t be such a stingy museum curator.”

They couldn’t escape Cheryl’s wrath in time. She had caught them staring and the indignation was palpable. “I’m sorry can I help you hobos with something? I don’t really appreciate Southside trash in my establishment. Especially not while I’m enjoying my milkshake.”

“I guess I’m not the only one that’s thirsty, Red. If you ever get tired of playing ball with boys who can’t treat a girl right just let me know,” with a wink, Toni turned her attention back to Jughead’s cold fries.

For once, it seemed Cheryl Blossom was at a loss for words. She quickly turned back to her girls, “What are you looking at, Ginger? Now, Veronica, what were you saying about your lovely skiing experience in the alps?”

“I suddenly get why you were staring,” Toni laughed. “They’re fun to rile up. I’ve got to bounce soon. Just wanted to check up on you since I saw your bike parked out front. You know I’m here for you, right? You’re a serpent even without the jacket and we take care of our own.”

“Really, Toni, I appreciate it. It means a lot to know there’s a few people who have my back no matter what. But I’m fine. Unless you know anything about the missing Polly Cooper that you’re willing to share?”

“Sorry, not a thing, but color me intrigued. If you need another set of eyes on your mystery I’m just a phone call away.” She curious plucked the baby blue flyer from the table. “Ugh, this stupid thing. What’s the point when we all know who’s going to win, that the food is horrible and overpriced, and all the games are rigged?”

Jughead laughed and gestured behind her to the group of cheerleaders currently comparing winter time instagram pictures. “Well I heard Cheryl was going to compete this year. I hear her talent is opening her mouth wide enough to swallow the entire universe.”

“Careful Jones, no need to make me horny at the table. I’ll keep my ears open and eyes peeled for anything about the missing Cooper girl and let you know if I get any leads. I can’t promise anything since there’s not much Southside gossip about it. Mostly just people grateful she’s missing so there’s one less maple blossom empire bitch to deal with.”

“Jesus, Toni, try and remember she’s a real person alright? I know it’s hard but she had a family who cared about her. A lot. Maybe. Probably. To be determined. The Coopers are a complex case. If I had the time I would write an entire study on their fucked up family dynamic. Maybe I’ll major in sociology in college and I’ll write an ethnography about them.”

Toni stood, brushing off her jacket and grabbed the last of the fries for the road. “This conversation has officially gone from true crime crack to technical nonsense I could not give less of a fuck about. Catch you on the flipside Jones. If you’ve got the time for a double feature next week call and we’ll figure something out.”

With a salute, she was off. Soon the loud roar of a bike filled the dinner until it slowly retreated into the distance. Eventually, it would cross the invisible barrier that separated the North and Southside, trapping her in her designated hemisphere until another northerner called begging for a hit.

Filled with a new invigoration, Jughead began typing away at the manuscript before him. The words were coming sweeter than before and soon enough there were pages filled with his thoughts. Eventually, he watched the Riverdale High crowd start to scatter, some wishing each other farewells, but most agreeing to meet at Reggie’s for the party in an hour.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come, B?” he overheard Veronica ask Betty. “I know Chuck doesn’t seem like a dream boat, especially with the somewhat misogynistic undertone he speaks about everything with, but I’m sure he’s decent in bed and a night just having fun could keep you out of your head. Even if you don’t want a set up date.”

“I’m positive, but I really appreciate the offer. If I get done with my article and homework early enough I’ll try and stop by for a minute, but I definitely can’t promise that and I’m not in the mood for a rager. I know Reggie’s things always go hard and I’m tired after arguing with my mom about the stupid pageant all day.”

“Totally understand, girl. You take care of you first. Love you girl,” with a tight hug, Veronica was gone, escorted out by none other than Archie Andrews.

Betty stayed for a few minutes before collecting her things. She walked towards him and Jughead felt all the air leave his lungs. Careful not to look down or even acknowledge his presence on her way out, she dropped a scrap of napkin to the ground right in front of his booth. Once she was safely gone, he picked it up, delighted to see her neat script etched into the fabric in pen.

_ Outside. The back. Wait five minutes before following me. _

The seconds ticked on agonizingly. Each minute the clock shifted made Jughead’s heart beat faster, his stomach somersaulting in a painful Olympic level mat routine. Finally it was time. He slid his laptop into his bag and left as nice a tip he could for Pop on the table before practically sprinting out of the building, his excitement overriding the more rational parts of his mind.

Hidden just out of view of the street light, tucked away in a place no one could see her if they weren’t looking  — even with the neon glow of her cheer uniform  — was Betty Cooper. She looked like a vision. An angel in her little white Keds, pom-poms spilling out of her brown purse. When she saw him, matching smiles appeared on both their lips, which were soon preoccupied with other things.

She tasted like vanilla and cherries. Two of his favorite things combined: Betty’s lips and the sweet taste of a Pop’s milkshake. They kissed for a while, lost in the franticness of making up for days of lost time between them. It hadn’t been long that they’d been playing at this game, but even a few moments apart felt like too long. When her lips were properly purple, Jughead pulled back with a quick pop.

Betty smiled up at him, tracing a pattern in the freckles along his neck. Her fingers were chilly in the evening breeze but he didn’t mind them. Nothing would stop him from getting a taste of her. It was all so new. The forbidenness of their romance probably adding hot kindling to the fire that was the early relationship honeymoon period.

“I missed you. God, Jug, I’m sorry I’ve been MIA these last few days. I know we said we were going to sit down and plan out our next move about Polly but my mom has been insane over this pageant. She’s so sure that if I win again everyone will just forget about Polly and focus on me. I had to lie to her that I was going to the party just so I could figure out a way to sneak out here and get some time with you. It’s so much pressure and I feel like I can’t take it. I feel like I’m drowning and — ”

She was cut off with another sound kiss. The tension left her body quickly as she melted into the strong arms of Jughead Jones. He pulled back and placed a kiss to her forehead. “Everything's okay. Well, not everything, but the things you’re worried about are okay. I get that your mom’s been eating up your time. We can’t have our undefeated maple princess lose her title can we?”

Betty laughed despite herself. “Yeah I guess that’s true. I’m sorry about what I had to say earlier about you. It made me sick but I can’t have Cheryl spot any weaknesses.”

“I know. I was proud of you, standing your ground like that. You’re a rockstar, Betty Cooper, try and be a little nicer to yourself.”

“Coming from the guy who can’t go a single night without sending me a self deprecating meme he found on tumblr at two thirty in the morning.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure my… that you laugh.” Jughead hoped she hadn’t caught his pause, but judging by the shift in her expression and the way her hands stilled on his chest, she had. “Sorry I just… I don’t know what to call people like us. Who do what we do.”

“I guess… I guess I’d call you my boyfriend, Jug. My secret boyfriend.” She smiled up at him hopefully. “If you even want to be.”

“I do. I want to be that. Definitely. For sure.”

Thankfully, Betty cut off any more rambling he could do with a kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair underneath his knit cap. She shivered and Jughead took that as all the more reason to pull her close. They were pressed together, her back against the paneling of Pop’s diner while her boyfriend’s tongue explored her mouth and then down, down, down her neck until the only thing coming out of her mouth was breathy whines that twisted in the cool air. When he pulled back, Betty caught him for another soft kiss, bringing their lips together a few more times until they were both content.

“If you’re my boyfriend, can I ask a stupid girlfriend question?” whether she was flushed from the question, the weather, or the kiss, Jughead wasn’t sure, but he knew he liked her with pink cheeks. “Who was that girl you were with, the one Cheryl got into an argument with? You two seemed really close and I don’t mean to be rude but I thought you said Archie was one of your only friends.”

“I’d call what Toni and I have more of an antagonistic familial relationship. We’re friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. We tried dating once and we both realized it was not what either of us wanted. Why? Were you jealous?”

“Absolutely,” she whispered before giving him another peck.

He smiled and pulled her a little tighter. From an outsider's perspective, it would be impossible to see who the two lovebirds were. He cherished theses moments in the dark, away from judgement and societal expectations.

“My turn. Why is Veronica trying to set you up with Chuck?”

Betty groaned, burying her face in his chest. “She thinks that if I get laid I’ll be less high strung. Her and Archie are kind of having a thing right now, and I’m really happy for them. Apparently I seemed way too happy and she started hounding me on if I had a boyfriend or not so I tried to distract her by reminding her that I’m a virgin and it caused her to spiral into a get Betty’s V card taken away crusade. Trust me when I say I’d rather sleep with a washing machine than Chuck Clayton.”

“Well I’d hope I’m higher up on that list than a washing machine, but thanks for telling me. Chuck’s probably not anyone’s top pick for first time partners. I can’t imagine he’s the most gentle guy around.”

“Ugh, trust me when I say there are plenty who would line up for a date with him. I’m just not one of them. Besides, I’m currently very enthralled with my own Romeo and we’re having a pretty amazing time, even if it is just behind Pop’s for now.” Her expression shifted into something sadder as she slid her hands inside the sherpa lining of his denim coat. “It won’t always be, Jug. I promise. Once we figure out Polly then I want us to be just us. I don’t care what other people say.”

“I believe you and I trust you, Betts. If you think this is for the best than I’m not going to argue with you on it. I’ve got thick skin, we’ve already talked about this. Speaking of Polly, I was thinking about what we could do. You said your mom has everything written down in her checkbook right? Well, how about I come to your place and cause a distraction, something she has to come see. While she comes to check it out you sneak and get pictures of it and then we’ll reconvene and assess. How’s that sound?”

“Have I told you you’re a genius yet, Juggie? Because if I haven’t then I really should.”

“Unnecessary, but thanks.”

Before they could properly celebrate the decision, Betty’s phone began to ring, a myriad of text reminders from her mother that she was expected home within the next fifteen minutes. She looked down, miserable, and apologized. They shared one more kiss before separating. He waited five minutes before heading to the parking lot and hoping on the back of his bike.

Nothing awaited him but the freezing temperatures inside the Blue and Gold. It was getting harder and harder to survive in it, but for now he would have to make due with a stock pile of blankets and a few heating pads he’d stolen from the nurse’s office. Lucky for him, his dreams were filled with warm summer days next to a special sunny blonde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 8: Progress
> 
> follow me on tumblr: @tory-b


	8. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jughead uncover some disturbing news that could lead them to the whereabouts of missing Polly Cooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks as always to my beta lilibug--xx for reading through this! I have had a very emotional last week and I'm headed into finals and an audition for a school play that I'm nervous about! Also, just fyi, I started a new story (which you should check out just saying). With that, I plan on updating them interchanging every other week, unless I so get struck by the inspiration Gods to type outside of that! This chapter has some hurt/comfort at the end I'm pretty excited about. Hope you guys enjoy and as always let me know what you think <3

Dear Diary,

Jughead and I are dating. Like a regular Nancy and Ned. It feels… well I guess it feels amazing. That’s a good way to put it. Finally things are starting to fall in place and I know we’re perfect together. It feels right. Good. Holding tight to Jughead’s hand and never letting go is the only good thing I have going for me when I’m sure my parents had something to do with my sister’s disappearance.

We have a plan for this morning. Jughead’s going to get on the property and light a small fire. Nothing major so he doesn’t get caught or burn down the maple trees that keep my family business going, but enough so that my parents are forced to go running to check out the commotion once the landscaper alerts them. I’ll only have a few minutes after that to grab what I need and take pictures. Then we’ll met up at The Blue and Gold to go through what we’ve found. I can’t lie and say I’m not terrified to learn what demons I’m letting out.

Sometimes it’s scary how in sync we are. No matter how bizarre or extreme my plans seem, he’s right on board with me, making them better. Making me better. God, do I feel better now that he’s here.

But I worry about Jughead a lot. I know there are a lot of secrets he’s hiding too. Not secrets like my parents, where someone’s life is potentially in danger and I apparently come from a long line of murderous siblings. I worry about his well being. About the secrets he’s holding. They’re hurting him, like a million tiny paper cuts lacerating his skin again and again and again and again. Soon he’s going to be riddled with holes without a way out and no one to bandage the wounds.

I’ve always seen Jughead so strong. Constantly, like a sturdy building in a hurricane, he’s always been there. His dad was never someone good, that much everyone knew. But he still did what he could. Still did amazing in class. Still opened his heart up to me even when he had every reason to shut me out.

Lately he’s seemed off. He’s definitely been more tired than usual. The bags under his eyes are getting darker and deeper, purple bruises that can’t be hidden by even the coffee that’s replaced the blood in his veins. I think he might be getting sick but he won’t tell me how or why. His body shakes involuntarily sometimes during class and I swear he’s got a cold. When we kissed at Pop’s, his whole body felt warm, but not in the comforting skin against skin way. It was like he was on fire, burning from the inside out. But what if he keeps burning? Until there’s nothing left of him.

The other day, I saw his fingers turn blue. The last I checked fingers were never meant to be blue. When I brought it up, he waved me off and stuffed them under the lining of his jacket, claiming they would be warmed up in just a few minutes. He told me not to worry. Jughead doesn’t like me worrying. He says I’ve got too much going on to worry about him, but I do it anyway. Every night before bed I sit there and wonder what he’s doing. How he’s doing. Where he’s staying. I hope home is okay for him. I know it’s never been easy, but maybe his dad has gotten better. I’m sure I would have heard about that from my gossip of a mother, but a girl can dream that her boyfriend isn’t living in hell anymore.

Whatever Jughead is dealing with on his own, my problems are probably only making it worse. Making it harder for him to balance out his time. I know what being over extended looks like. With the annual Maple festival coming up soon (and the crown I’m expected to win) I cherish the time I have with him even more. Moments together, like behind Pop’s, they’re what keep me going through all the rough turmoil.

Oh my God, kissing Jughead. I’ve been kissed before. Once by Archie, and once by Reggie when I was too drunk at a party to think straight and I swore he looked like Hugh Jackman. But those kisses weren’t like this. I want more. I’m addicted and whenever I don’t get a taste I’m going through a withdrawal where all I can do is think about his lips on mine and the way we fit so perfectly together.

In sixth grade, I read about a myth from Greek mythology, about how people were made out of clay, with two of everything, including faces, but then were split in half. That’s what makes a soulmate, because when their bodies were split in half, so were their hearts. I think… God I know it’s too soon to say it, but I think Jughead is mine. I think we’re two hearts made from the same clay.

I hope soon he tells me what’s wrong. I know it’s hard to open up to people. Both of us have been taught to sit back and bear it, bear the pain. I have my smile and he’s got his dry wit. They act like armor, protecting us from the true emotions we’ve been forced to bury deep inside a locked box, with a hastily written note that says “do not open under any circumstance” attached to it.

I really hope that together, we’ll be able to open up that box and pull out a few hidden things. Even if they aren’t that big. Just one step at a time. Maybe I’ll pull out the time in seventh grade where I got so scared at a haunted house Polly made me go to that I punched one of the actors and had to get escorted out kicking and screaming. And maybe he’ll pull out something that happened with him and that girl Toni when they were young. I want to know everything about him. Everything he’s willing to give me. And I’ll give him everything in return.

I think I might be falling for Jughead Jones. The guy I called Juggie back in kindergarten. I know my parents would be furious but I can’t say I’m sorry. I won’t say I’m sorry. Because with him, I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

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Betty closed her journal and slipped it into her bag with the rest of her school supplies, her phone clutched tightly in her fist. Alice was calling for her to come down for breakfast and the dominos were perfectly positioned to fall right into place. Descending the stairs, she tried to keep her heart rate steady. If her parents smelled any sign of descent, she’d surely be shipped off to the Sister’s without a second though. She couldn’t help Polly there. She couldn’t help Jughead there. So Betty put on her prettiest smile and took a seat across from her father.

“Daddy,” she pointed at the dish beside him. “Can you pass me the strawberries? I want extra on my pancakes this morning.”

“Of course, Betty,” he smiled. 

Her muscles ached from the fake smiles, but pageantry had prepared her for this moment. If she could trick a panel of judges into thinking she was nothing but gumdrops and rainbows, she could certainly fool her parents. 

“How has practice been?” Alice asked, taking a pointed bite of the hotcakes.

“It’s going great. I think my routine this year will be the best one yet. I’ll bring home that crown for sure so I can put it with the others. It’s one of my last years, I don’t want to fail you now.”

“That’s a good girl,” Hal reached forward and squeezed her hand.

Stomach contorted in horrible knots, Betty did her best to keep her smile straight. Under the table she texted the signal to Jughead to let him know it was time to start. For a few minutes, she was terrified he’d got caught before the blaze could be found, but she soon enough she heard the heavy thundering boots the groundskeeper always wore.

“There’s a fire!” he shouted, throwing open the door. “Come quickly Mr. Cooper!”

Hal and Alice shot up immediately, instructing Betty to stay at the table while they went to investigate the ruckus. The door closed and she counted backwards from ten until the sound of her parents voices were too far away to hear. She raced to the drawer her mother kept the check books.

With shaky hands, she flipped through the pages, taking pictures of everything from the last three months. A few names caught her attention, but that could be saved for another time. Her heart pounded, deafening the world until she felt a faint buzzing in her back pocket.

Jug

_ They’re coming back! _

Betty placed the files back as neatly as she could. If her mother caught even a single file out of place she would immediately become suspicious. No one touched the finances except for her, not even Hal  — who, by his own admission, was terrible at math, a trait Polly had inherited much to her irritation. She slipped back into her chair, ignoring the way her head screamed to get up and run. Run as fast and as far as she could until she was in Jughead’s arms. There had been no others texts from him and she worried he hadn’t gotten away in time.

Eventually the door opened again and in came her parents, looking disgruntled as they argued about the damages to the property. From what Betty could tell, the fire was minor, just like she had asked it to be. A small blaze that would end up being more annoying than crop jeopardizing.

“It was probably some local kid trying to look cool for his friends, Alice. We don’t need to go on a witch hunt for him. There’s no point.”

“No point? We can’t just let hooligans vandalize our property!”

Betty looked down at the pancakes and tried to take another bite. Her stomach did somersaults to avoid the sweet maple syrup and soon the forgotten breakfast was hidden in the trash underneath her father’s newspaper. Hopefully, everyone would be none the wiser.

“Bye Mom, bye Dad,” She grabbed her things and waved, practically sprinting out the door. “I promise I’d work on a Blue and Gold article this morning so I have to go. See you tonight!”

Before anyone could stop her, she was gone, speeding away in her mini cooper from the house that had quickly become a prison. As the rot iron gates closed, her heart felt a little lighter. They had done it. Her and Jughead, together, had perfectly executed yet another plan to help finally put the missing pieces together  — at least she hoped it would.

Jughead’s motorcycle was already parked outside the school. Relief washed over her and soon excitement replaced the nervous energy that had previous trapped inside her heart. She ran quickly through the near empty halls to the Blue and Gold. Spotting him perched on the table, Betty threw her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“You didn’t get caught.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, hands coming up to hold her closer. “Have a little more faith in me, Betts. I’m sneakier than I look.”

“I know. There shouldn’t have been a single doubt in my mind.” She leaned up and offered his lips a single peck before the real work for was forced to begin.

In her phone were a few hundred pictures she had managed to take during the distraction. Jughead sat by her side, writing down any repeating or suspicious information. Most everything looked familiar from the few times she had bothered to pay attention to breakfast business conversations during Christmas time, when the vultures in the Cooper family board of Trustees descended to make sure the business was running as smoothly as possible.

There was nothing written about the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Betty was relieved, of course, that her sister had not again been forced into such a cruel torment. But if not the Sister’s then where? Where was Polly?

“Maybe… maybe we were wrong. Maybe my parents have nothing to do with this and I’m just paranoid after finding out about great grandpa Cooper and Blossom. Maybe she got kidnapped by someone else. Or maybe she finally got smart and ran as far away as she could form this horrible town. I wish I had.”

Betty felt defeated. Despite her best efforts they were not a single step closer to finding the whereabouts of her missing sister. Deep down, she knew there had to be something sinister still left to uncover. But as the days passed by and nothing was found  — despite her best efforts  — holding onto hope because more and more difficult with each hour lost to the unforgiving passage of time.

And then he touched her. Gentle and kind and supportive, Jughead squeezed her shoulder, something to ground her tumultuous heart. “Don’t give up, Betty. We’ll figure this out. Sure it’s a harder puzzle than we planned, but we can do this.” 

With one look, her resolve was strengthened again. She would not rest without finding her. Polly was somewhere, cold and lost and thinking no one cared to come find her. But she would.

“You’re right. We can. Read the names back to me and I’ll see if any more of them sound strange. There has to be some sort of link in this. If they’re covering their tracks, they had to have tripped and stumbled somewhere along the way.”

Jughead nodded and started again from the top of the list, making sure to ask which ones she recognized and how. Her dance instructor, Liza. The packaging plant manager. Cooper Enterprises Headquarters. And then —

“That one. Say that one again to me.”

“Sunny Standard Suites? Could it just be some contractor she rented a room from?”

“I don’t think so. Jughead, what day was that paid out?”

He zoomed in to find the date. “A few days ago, on the 23rd. Why do you…” he broke out in a grin. “You figured something out didn’t you?”

“I think so. Read me the name of last months payout, on the 23rd.”

“Simon Simmons Sr.”

“The one before that.”

“Skylight Storage Services.”

“What’s the amount of each check?”

“$2,300 each time.” Jughead frowned. “That’s a lot of money each month to be shelling out to random groups at the same time each month. What do you think is going on?”

Betty stood, alight with fire at her revelation. “Don’t you see? The same payout, the same day, to three different people all with the same first, middle, and last initial? My mom thinks she’s clever but she’s not. She’s paying some guy who has the initials SSS for something, and my guesses are it’s Polly. Maybe he’s holding her hostage and they’re paying ransom to get her back. Or maybe they paid him to take her so she’d finally stop seeing Jason. Whoever it is, we have to find them.”

She had expected a hug. A kiss even for a job well done. But instead her boyfriend stood rigid, face draining of all color. His eyes were blown wide, hands shaking as he stared down at the names and bit by bit put what she was saying together.

“Shit. Oh shit,” he stood, running a hand through his front curl. Pacing back and forth, Betty’s gaze could barely keep track of his movements. “It’s not someone she’s paying. It’s a bunch of someones. SSS. Betty, she’s paying the Southside Serpents for something. They’re a biker gang. Last I checked they don’t play kidnapping games whether it’s with or without the parents permission. Those guys are desperate but they’re not… they aren’t desperate like this. Maybe selling weed to Centerville kids that’s way too expensive and not good cut, but this? Fuck this is serious shit. Dad, what the hell did you do?”

Betty’s eyebrows knit in confusion. She stepped forward, placing her hands on Jughead’s shoulders to steady him. “Dad? What are you talking about Jug? Does your dad know something about the Southside Serpents? Could we get him to talk to them for us?”

“He’s not just a member of the Serpents, Betts. He runs them. My dad’s a biker gang leader. He’s not a good guy, he never has been, but kidnapping people? I thought that kind of thing was completely of the table. I grew up around those guys. They’re assholes and vandals but as far as I knew they never picked up anything that illegal.”

“Jughead!” she snapped, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a hard kiss. “You need to calm down before you force yourself into a tizzy I can’t get you out of with just a kiss. Start over. Slow down. Do you need to sit down?”

Together they made their way over to the couch. Betty sat close beside him, her hands wrapped tightly around his. There were so many thoughts going through her head, it was impossible to grab onto just one. Her boyfriend’s father was a gang leader. She knew things had never been great between them, and it wasn’t a secret that FP Jones was the town alcoholic, barely skirting the law at every opportunity. But a snake? That seemed so far out there. Then again, these were crazy times in Riverdale, and people were doing a million crazy things.

And then her parents. Hiring a gang to do something with Polly? Whatever it was, Betty doubted it was all sunshines and rainbows wherever her sister was stashed. She hoped they weren’t hurting her. Alice and Hal were supposed to protect her. That was their job. Parents protect their children, not pawn them off to a gang because they were difficult to handle. She felt impossibly sick to her stomach.

“My dad,” Jughead’s voice was quiet. “He wasn’t always the Serpent leader, but he was always in and out of the gang. I think after my mom left, he sort of threw himself into it, because it was the only thing that he had. He kept saying it was his only family left, like I wasn’t even there, like he just forgot about me. I tried not to let it bother me but his drinking got worse with them. He spiraled. But to think he could be part of something like this? I don’t believe it. Maybe it’s different than we think it is.”

“I trust you. If you think your dad isn’t doing something like this, maybe someone in the gang is doing this behind his back?”

“I guess maybe, yeah. There are a few people who’ve never liked the way my dad leads, but then again… I’m not sure why any of the Serpents would take such a high risk job without his approval. Weed is one thing but keeping a living person hidden away is another. It’s risky? What if she escapes and rats the discenter out. No, this has to be something my dad approved of. I can’t think of anything else.”

Betty stayed close to him. The news was unsettling. Her head was spinning as she tried to process everything, especially the news that her boyfriend’s father might be the one holding her sister hostage. But she wasn’t her parents and he wasn’t his. Whatever sins FP Jones was carrying had no place on Jughead’s shoulders and she would make sure he understood that.

There were also other important issues to address. If his father had any part in this, it didn’t make sense that Jughead was so left out of the loop. Then again, perhaps it was common place to having his father missing for long stretches of time without any clue his whereabouts. 

“Did you ever see your dad do anything suspicious in the last few months? I know it’s hard when the guy in question has a history of being less than a stellar parent, but even the smallest things could mean something.”

His face grew paler  — a feat Betty thought to be impossible  — and stared down at his still shaking hands. The weighted silence frightened her. It was the same heaviness she felt whenever she dared to question him about his red nose and blue fingertips. He was a closed off person, something she couldn’t blame him for, but as they were pulled together she craved to uncover what was left hidden. Whatever he was keeping from her, he was scared of it. Or maybe scared of how she would react.

Reaching out, Betty took his hands in hers again and placed a kiss to each of his palms. She watched Jughead’s body slowly relax, the tension momentarily leaving him with a deep exhale. She guided his breath to match hers. Those secret late night meditations were doing her some good at last.

“Whatever it is you can tell me, Jug. It’s okay. After everything you’ve helped me through I’m not just going to run at the first sign of turmoil for you. But whatever it is, it might help me find Polly. It might help us find Polly. Please,” her voice cracked in desperation. Her sister was out there and she was so close to finding her.

“It’s not what I can tell you Betty, it’s what I can’t tell you. I don’t know anything because I haven’t… I’m not living at home. I haven’t been for about a year now. I used to live at the Drive-In but I… I live somewhere else now.”

And all at once, Betty’s heart shattered. Not only couldn’t he tell her anything about what might link his dad to Polly, but she had been so completely unaware of just how difficult life was for him lately. Where was he living then, if not at the Drive-In or at home? It couldn’t be safe. Not when he was frequently turning blue and still had a mild fever running.

“Where are you living?”

“I don’t… I’m not going to tell you. I don’t want you to worry while we should be focusing on figuring out what the Serpents have to do with Polly. So please, don’t ask, okay? I don’t want to have to lie to you.”

Betty swallowed the knot in her throat, turning away. It hurt to badly to know there was nothing she could do to help him. He was shutting her out. The pill was a bitter one.

“Okay. Then I won’t press. Just promise me you’re safe? And taking care of yourself.”

“The best I can,” he squeezed her hand. “Now about my dad. I think we have to confront him about it. It’s risky because he might tell your mom we found out but I can’t think of another way we can do it. The Serpents only take under the table cash so he doesn’t have any financial records to go off of like your mom. It’s just speculation until we get verbal confirmation from him.”

“I think it’s worth it. Will your dad let us in if he’s been keeping you at arm distance after you moved out?”

“It’s more like I’ve been keeping him at arm's distance. My dad has done a lot of shady shit and I got tired of it. I got tired of being around the gang violence and all of that. So one day I just… packed up all my things and left. Grabbed what would fit in a duffel bag and just expected he would pawn the rest for whiskey. I know it’s stupid, but sometimes I still wish I could go back and see him. He’s not a bad guy. I know he’s not. He’s just sick. Really, really sick.”

“We all have demons to battle with. It’s okay that your dad has his, but I’m glad you got out of a situation that was toxic for you. Because I don’t want you being hurt. I know I hurt you for a long time, but let me start to help you heal. On your own time. However long that may need to be.”

“Thank you. For being as understanding as you are. And I promise we can go together to see my dad this weekend. We won’t leave the trailer until he tells us something about her.”

She nodded and offered him her patented smile. “Until then I act like everything is normal at home. Just like I always do. Trust me, I’m good at it.”

Jughead laughed, shaking his head and pulling her down for a gentle kiss. “You’re an enigma, Betty Cooper.”

She tried to push away all the worries and doubts she had in favor of focusing on his soft lips. Here she felt safe. Here she felt happy. That was all that had to matter now, until the school bell rang and ripped them apart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Betty knows something about Jughead's situation, how long until she learns the rest?
> 
> Next: Chapter 9: The Southside King


	9. The Southside King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead comes face to face with his father and things go just about as well as you would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi quick warning: Smut in this chapter. Way at the bottom. At the end. So like, you can read right up to it and skip it if you so choose but the porn is there!
> 
> Another thing: My update schedule is going to be FUCKED from now on. I'm back home for the summer and attempting to get two part times jobs so I can have money since currently my family is in pretty tricky financial straights. So like, I promise I'm still writing and I'm still updating, but forgive me for fucking up the schedule so bad. Especially since I have to write buggie break prompts. 
> 
> ANYWAY! Hope you guys enjoy, thanks to everyone who sticks with this story <3

Growing up, my family was never religious. While other fathers helped teach their sons to double knot bow ties early before church, mine was busy at the Whyte Wyrm, enjoying his own communion of whiskey and cigarettes. I imagine he looked up at the graffiti snakes like the Virgin Mary mosaics hanging proudly in the one Catholic Cathedral in Riverdale. Most of the population  — as with nearly all of New England  — was Protestant thanks to a certain reformation by a man named Martin Luther who wrote as long winded as I do. Religion was another part of small town America my world never quite aligned with.

The one and only time I had ever attended church was at the behest of my mother, who put me in Goodwill slacks and stuffed the knit cap in my pocket before sending me on my way with Archie, Mary, and Fred Andrews who, like the typical Middle Class family, attended every Sunday morning service. I made it a mile down the road before putting my hat back on. Even God couldn’t convince me to find a better set of manners. At the time, going felt like a chore, a social requirement even at seven years old that I had no desire to partake in. Now I know my mother  — worn thin from two growing children and one grown man who acted like a child himself  — likely tucked little Jellybean into bed with her and slept until the ache in her heart and the stench of ethanol faded into nothingness.

When we walked through the giant oak double doors of the nicest building I had or have ever been in, I immediately spotted the blonde girl in the second row braiding her little sister’s hair. It was Polly Cooper, who I recognized only from the few times she came down to the first grade playground and graced us with her established third grader presence. Sometimes, she would push Betty on the swings and gossip about all the boys she sat with. Other times, the sisters would just sit there in silence, matching pastels on full display, a stark contrast from the brittle dying yellow grass beside them  — but just as poisoned.

Where there was Polly, there was almost certainly Betty. Just as little Jellybean followed me around on her unsteady legs, Betty trailed behind Polly, unaware of the shadow being cast until it was too late to abandon ship. I sat up a little straighter, wiggling until I was up on my tip toes and could catch a glimpse of the fair haired beauty I had taken up coloring for. She was in blue. A pretty sky blue that matched the polka dots on her sister’s dress and the cloudless sky peeking out through the open windows.

Fifteen minutes to go until the service started and Archie had grown restless beside me. He pulled on the plaid of his father’s shirt and asked, “Can me and Jughead go say hi to our friend Betty?”

“Betty Cooper?” Fred seemed almost in disbelief, but with a nod from Mary and a promise we would be back in a few minutes, they shooed us off.

The further we walked up the aisles, the nicer the outfits of those around us became. Clifford Blossom sat with an expensively tailored cherry red suit. Beside him, like expensive set pieces instead of family, were his wife and two children. Cheryl’s dress was red too, with a little birdcage veil pinned in her curls. They sat stoic, eyes trained ahead. Jason at least wiggled like a child. That is, until his mother smacked his hands with the heavy book. He didn’t let out a single complaint even as the welts started to raise.

“Betty!” Archie tried to whisper, but his voice still carried in the hollow room. “Hi. We saw you and wanted to say hi. So… um, hi.”

When she giggled  — yes giggled  — the bile rose in my throat and my heart did somersaults. If Betty lived in Polly’s shadow, I had made my home in Archie’s. He was the main character, a hero who wooed the crowd with his confident smile and peppered freckled cheeks, and I was his supporting role, speaking only when prompted or to guide him on the most righteous path. Even then, it made sense that the young princess would pay more attention to him than me.

The first instance of the green eyed monster  —  jealousy  — perplexed me and on instinct I coiled back. Silently, I watched them exchange hugs and introductions to Polly. When Betty finally noticed my presence, she frowned and plucked the hat from my head.

“You can’t wear that in here, Juggie. No hats in the Lord’s house. You have to look handsome for him.”

If Hal and Alice Cooper had noticed us up until that point, they made no show of it. The preacher began his walk to the stand and they shooed us away  — back into the crowd where the non-elites belonged. Had it been up to them, I would have been swept past the door and into the gutter like the other trash they looked upon so sourly.

The stories were hard to follow and my mind quickly flitted to other, more impossible fairy tales, where the peasant boy kissed the princess and the prince went off to marry a lady. Mary nudged me gently when my eyes started to wander away with my thoughts. She leaned down and whispered tenderly, “He’s talking about faith and family. Abraham and Isaac.”

Curious, I trained my eyes on the droll man again. He spoke without the intense enthusiasm I had heard from hellfire and brimstone preachers on Saturday Morning cartoons, but with a patient understanding. It was about a father who had intended to sacrifice his son at God’s request to test his loyalty. With every intention to follow through, he guided his son to the top of a tall mountain. Had it not been for heavenly intervention, Abraham would have skewered his son there, painting the rocks red.

The nightmares after that lasted for months. I would wake up in a cold sweat, looking around for my father to be holding a blood stained knife over my crumpled body. In her attempt to bring me closer to God, Mary Andrews had traumatized a child. The nightmares carried into my adolescence. Easier now to poke plot holes in, I began to understand the depths of the nightmares. My father had loyalties to two things: the serpents and whoever could provide for him his next shot of whiskey and I fell in neither of those two categories.

I’m not sure if I call myself religious, but I believe in the Powers That Be and the roles they play, causing havoc, unrest, and fear to grip hold of even the most righteous of individuals. As Betty and I walked towards the old trailer I had once called hope, I felt those nightmares creep forward again. I was a sacrificial lamb ready being brought to slaughter and FP Jones was holding the knife.

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“Despite fear of being labeled a coward and being chased from this operation, I have to be honest with you Betty, I’m fucking terrified.”

On the precipice of knowledge, the thought of facing his father still shook Jughead to the very depths of his core. It had been nearly five months since the two had crossed paths, when he had gathered up the last of his things and left a spiteful note explaining he would be back when FP learned how to be a parent again. His three requests had been: sober, stable, and no Serpents. At his wits end, an ultimatum had seemed his best bet for keeping the last of his family intact. It hadn’t worked.

His first night at the drive-in, FP had banged on the walls in a drunken rage, begging for Jughead to come home. Headphones in and volume turned up so high his ears nearly bled did nothing to mask the pained howls from a broken man. That night, he didn’t sleep. Or the night after. Rest didn’t come until FP had been too drunk to come. And then he stopped coming all together.

Jughead speculated his father was still under the impression he lived at the Twilight Drive-In. If it were up to him, he would have. The poorly insulated shack had felt safer than the eerie halls of Riverdale High, but the owner had caught him curled up in the projection booth early one morning and threatened him with a pink slip if he didn’t pack up his things and find a new place to crash. Refusing to lose his only source of income, Jughead set up camp in the only place that hadn’t betrayed him. It was only a matter of time.

The bitter memories still clung to the cool metal of the trailer, which swayed in the heavy breeze of a cold night. Had Betty not been clinging tightly to him with her warm black mittened hand, he probably would have ran. Ran fast. Ran far. Ran until his legs gave out. But she needed him and he would do what he had to.

“I’m right here, Juggie.” She reached forward and kissed his wind reddened cheeks. “If it gets too much we leave lickety split. No waiting around for answers, not twenty questions, no nothing. Just back on the bike. Which, by the way, we need a second helmet for. I’m not letting you get yourself brain dead for the sake of looking like a James Bond villain.”

“But you’re saying I do look like a James Bond villain?”

Betty rolled her eyes  — if it weren’t for the hefty scarf covering the lower half of her face in a brave attempt to shield herself from the unforgiving weather. She rapped on the door twice, but the howling wind devoured her delicate sounds. Jughead shook his head and gave the old door a swift kick.

“OPEN UP, SNAKE!”

Provocation was probably not how he should have began an interaction with his extremely volatile alcoholic father, but there were questions that needed answering and he was the only one with the knowledge to provide them. A startled Betty tried to say something, but the door to the trailer flung open. Before him stood a haggard looking FP Jones. The alcohol was treating him poorly, but what comforts were kind these days?

His eyes narrowed. “Well. The Prodigal Son returns.”

Of all the times Jughead  — misty eyed and stupidly optimistic  — had envisioned his father-son reunions, none of them involved his secret girlfriend attached to his arm or an accusation that FP had something to do with the disappearance of a young woman, let alone Polly Cooper, heiress to the Cooper fortune. It had, on more than one occasion, involved the sickening stench of stale booze. Betty’s eyes watered and this time it was not from the wind. She moved a bit closer.

“And who’s this? Wait, do my eyes deceive me? Little Betty Cooper all grown up. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can we come in? This isn’t exactly a house call,” Jughead explained. Beside him, Betty had clammed up, her nails digging into him through the layers of clothing. This was not one instance where her charming Cooper smile and cheery disposition could win her a golden trophy and a glittering crown.

FP stepped aside and allowed the young couple to enter. “I would assume it’s not. First, I’ve got to ask, when did this start happening?” He gestured to them.

“It’s kind of a secret,” Jughead said. “So if you could not tell anyone that would be great.”

“Who would I tell, kid? The only thing left in this house is me and the whiskey.”

“Clearly.”

Tension thick in the air, Jughead felt Betty shift closer to him. She pulled the scarf from around her neck and hung it on her arm. Subtle florals overpowered the alcohol and he was once again grateful for his girlfriend’s presence through this all.

“We’re here about my sister, Mr. Jones. I’m sure you heard about what happened to Polly. Or what didn’t happen to Polly, since we really don’t know that much and the Sheriff isn’t exactly looking.”

“Yeah, I did.” FP nodded. “It’s a tragedy. I hope you and your folks get some kind of closure on that.”

Betty’s eyes narrowed and she took a step forward. “You and everyone else keep talking like Polly’s dead. Like she’s not coming back. But, I’ll be frank you with, I’m starting not to believe that everyone is as innocently wistful about it as they seem. I’m not here to accuse you of anything, just ask a few questions. Especially concerning why my mom has been paying you large sums of cash out of her and my dad’s joint bank account.”

The atmosphere shifted as Jughead watched his father. The snake was out, tail rattling in warning, fangs bared. He stepped forward so the angry would shift to him. Drunk and angry, it was a combination he knew well, and he knew well enough when FP Jones was preparing to pounce.

“Don’t try to deny it, Dad. We have proof. All we’re asking is why Mrs. Cooper is paying you. You don’t have to tell us anything. Obviously we can’t exactly go to the police about a business arrangement. But I’m asking you, as your son, what the hell did you get yourself involved with?”

“Is that really any of your damn business, kid?”

“No, but last I checked, your business wasn’t with the Coopers. You’ve been getting paid since Polly went missing. Not before then. You have to admit to yourself that it’s suspicious  —  incriminating.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said I’ve picked up odd jobs at the Cooper factory? Fixing machines and chopping trees.”

Betty chirped up. “No. Dad doesn’t let anyone but the companies fix machines and he wouldn’t chop a tree until it was on it’s last leg. That’s not the sort of thing you get paid regularly for either.”

FP sighed, running a hand through his hair before popping off the cap of a Corona. Watching his father drink made Jughead recoil. Resentment came rushing back. To drink so boldly in front of him, when he knew that all Jughead had ever wanted was for him to stop, was like the knife he had been waiting for.

The second stab came from his answer. When their eyes met and he lied again.

“I don’t have anything to do with your sister, Betty. Sorry to disappoint you. And as for what your family is paying me for, it isn’t my business to tell family secrets like that.”

Jughead took a shaky breath. He was furious. Enraged. The fire had ignited deep in his heart, sending him on a warpath. “Fine. I don’t know why I expected you to actually help. It’s not like you haven’t disappointed me my entire life. One thing after another. I ask you something and no, it can’t be done. You just want to get paid so you can buy yourself another bottle of Jameson. Everything else, anyone who gets caught in the crossfire or the aftermath, well that’s just collateral damage isn’t it?

“What you’re doing isn’t fair? It wasn’t fair when it was Mom and Jellybean getting hurt. It wasn’t fair when I was getting hurt. But this? Really takes the cake. Now someone else is getting hurt. Someone outside of just your family. Your actions have consequences. I know that’s an adult problem you’ve never had to face before, but Jesus, dad are your eyes even open? A girl is missing. Probably held hostage by you because you’re getting paid by her parents to do it. Well I hope the alcohol helps you sleep at night, Dad.”

“Boy!” FP bellowed, rising to his feet. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. I’m still your father whether you like it or not.”

“According to what? Genetics? Because there’s nothing else that can prove I’m your son other than paternity. You’ve never acted like it. I told you, when I first left, that one day I’d come back. I’m not anymore. I’m done. I am never coming back here. I always knew you were a lot of things. A liar. A snake. But aiding and abiding in kidnapping? That’s insane, even for you. So I’m out. And you can keep pulling me back, kicking and screaming if you want, but I’ll find a way to leave again and again. It’s time to reevaluate your life.”

“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” But when FP spoke, his voice flattered. Jughead knew he was right. No more arguments. “Where the hell are you going to go? You haven’t been living at the Drive-In, so where have you been?”

“That isn’t any of your business anymore.” 

Grabbing Betty’s hand, he dragged her from the property. They didn’t talk until they were a few feet away and the blinds of the trailer had been snapped tight. Betty spun on him. She grabbed his face and studied him, her expression softening.

“Juggie… are you okay? That was horrible. I’m sorry I ever made you do that, go into his house like that. I was being so selfish I never realized how bad things were between you two even when you told me.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He took her hands and kissed them. “ _ I’m _ sorry he wasn’t more help. We’re pretty much nowhere again when it comes to finding your sister because my dad’s lying. And he doesn’t keep information lying around that would be helpful, even if we went back when he’s at the bar and broke in.”

“Not so fast. We know a heck of a lot more now than we did going in. We know that your dad has something to do with Polly, and judging by the way he reacted to everything you were saying, I bet he knows exactly where she is. Which means my parents know and are involved. We’re getting somewhere Juggie. Don’t discredit this just yet. Just because the operation didn’t go exactly as expected doesn’t mean it’s not a success.”

She leaned up and kissed him. It was always like stars. When his eyes closed a million tiny firework explosions engulfed him. Like a warm 4th of July down by Sweetwater, Betty’s kisses were comforting. Betty’s kisses were home.

When they pulled apart, both grinning like idiots, she squeezed his hand. But all too soon her smile faded. “Jug. Where are you staying? I asked you before and then when your dad said that, it made me think about it again. I’m just worried about you is all.”

“Okay. But I think it would be better if I showed you. Instead of told you.”

They got on his motorcycle and drove to the place familiar to both of them. Landmarks whizzed by them one after the other as the harsh breeze bit at his already red nose. Jughead felt Betty curl against him, hiding her face in his jacket to protect her from the elements. The cold didn’t bother him. Her touch, even with her freezing nose, was a reminder he wasn’t alone anymore  — hopefully, would never be alone again.

As they pulled into the parking lot of Riverdale High, he heard Betty’s audible gasp. She didn’t say anything else, but her wide eyes let him know the realization had slowly begun to dawn on her. The cough building up in his chest was rough coming out. It had been like this for weeks. Whatever he had come down with from sleeping in the dusty Blue and Gold office was sticking with him for the long hall. At least it was more loyal than his family.

“We’re at Riverdale High,” her quiet voice perforated the night air. “How are we going to get in?”

Jughead looked up at the stars, trying to memorize the constellations  — a last moment of quiet peace before he opened her up to the depths of his struggles. Curious, she followed his gaze. Her hand gripped tighter.

“I have a key,” he said, breaking the illusion. “I’ve had one since I started doing this.”

“How did you get it?”

“You’d be surprised how nice the janitorial staff is here. I think they get it, being poor and looked down on like you’re dirt, even though without you the heart of world would probably stop beating.”

Riverdale High, normally bustling with lively characters and nonstop energy, was eerily quiet tonight, as it is most nights he spends here. Their footsteps echoed through the halls, reverberating off of closed lockers. It was late enough now that no one was around to hear them breaking and entering. Especially so close to Christmas, Jughead knew no one would be here. A private ghost town all for him.

Betty clung to his arm. The soft fur of her expensive coat brushed against his skin through the thinning lining of his jean jacket. With every step he watched her expressions shift. Shocked. Confused. Sad. Pitying. It was a cycle he knew well. When his mother had left, every face that turned his way wore one of those masks. At least with Betty the empathy never felt fake.

He opened the door to the Blue and Gold office with a quiet thud. After shuffling her inside, he stood in the center of the room and gestured dramatically. “This… this is where I live,Betty. I sleep here, every night. It’s bad insulation and there’s no heater so I get pretty cold, which is why you’ve seen me sick so often I’m sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” She seemed so small, swallowed in her oversized fuzzy pink coat. “I could have… I could have done something. Figured out a way to help you. Like you always help me.”

“You don’t have to help me, Betty. I’m doing just fine. And besides I didn’t tell you because I was worried. Worried that you would be ashamed of me. Of this. I know it’s not ideal to have to secretly date your boyfriend because your mom hates him, anyway, add on that said boyfriend’s dad is a criminal who is probably involved with your sister’s disappearance and now he’s a hobo who lives in the school? I would be ashamed of me.”

His downcast gaze was shifted by her gentle movements until ice blue was meeting brilliant green. She shook her head and kissed him. “I could never be ashamed of you Juggie. Not in a million years.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he whispered as their lips met again.

This kiss was hungrier than the last. She stole all the air from his lungs like a beautiful siren and left him spinning with a need for more. Jughead found himself between her and the wall, a sandwich he’d never imagined to be as sinfully sweet as this. When she moaned  — gentle and intoxicating  — he felt the zipper of his jeans tighten.

“You get cold here right?” Betty’s voice was sultry and a devilish grin danced on her lips. He wanted nothing more than to kiss it off of her.

“Yeah. Almost every night. Why?”

She looked up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Well Juggie,” her hand traced along the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “What if we did something to warm you up a little then? Tonight.”

Betty Cooper had just propositioned him for a fuck in the Blue and Gold. Even in his most descriptive daydreams this was not within the realm of possibilities. And now here it was. The same girl who kissed him senseless, who swept him of his feet at five, wanted him. Denying her would have been insanity.

“God yes,” he kissed her again. 

It was a slow walk backwards as various pieces of clothes were discarded. The couch was the only proper place to do this. He wouldn’t fuck her like an animal bent over the editor desk  — at least not tonight. Maybe in the morning. Jughead fumbled with the clasps of her bra, earning him a soft giggle. He bit her lip in retribution, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was just more of those dirty little moans filling the air.

Once her breasts were freed, Jughead was enraptured. Suddenly, there was a goddess straddling him, taking his hands and bringing them up to touch what he seemed so desperate for. The skin was soft. Supple. And when he pulled at her perky pink nipples she bucked against him, making the impossible strain on his jeans even tighter. So he did it again.

“Juggie,” she moaned. “More. Just like that.”

Jughead Jones had never touched a woman before, not like this. There was the tryst with Toni they both preferred not to acknowledge, but this was not like that. This was someone he loved, staring at him with the most beautiful eyes, begging for him to have her, to take her, to touch her. Like a puppet master, she pulled his heart strings into action.

For who knows how long it was just a slow grind of hips against hips. Childish foreplay as the reality of their every growing pile of clothes indicated. His temperature rose exponentially and his brain screamed. More. MORE. It was all primal now. Giving into temptation, he let himself be free of the usual patented Jones restraint. Tonight it would be about them.

“I’ve never done this before,” Betty whispered. Her eyes drifted down to his now free cock. “But I want to. With you. I trust you.”

“I’ve never done this before either. But I want it too. With you.”

With the last of their inhibitions destroyed, Betty positioned herself properly and slowly, inch by inch, lowered herself onto his cock. The first thing he noticed was how tight it was. The next was the little wince she gave. He kissed her sweetly, holding her against him.

“Is this okay? Are you okay?”

After a few moments, she nodded. “I’m fine. I’m fine now. Move. Please? I want to feel you Juggie. I want to feel you in me, fucking me. No  — I want to feel you making love to me.”

And so he did. With every thrust, their bodies shook together. Above him, she moaned again and again, crying out as he reached deeper. Betty captured his lips in a heated kiss. Tongues tangled together in a messy dance that matched their unskilled movements as he swallowed her screams. Every moment felt like bliss. Unadulterated bliss.

“Jughead!” she cried out, nails biting into her skin. “Come on, baby. Come on. I’m so close. Just fuck me a little bit harder.”

He complied to her request, holding her hips as he snapped up harder against her, deeper. She shook with pleasure and he felt her tighten around him. A few more thrusts and Jughead was lost inside her. They finished together in an intense climax.

Betty brushed the damp curl from his eyes. “You’re so handsome.”

He smiled up at her. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Together, they curled up on the couch. It wasn’t big enough for one, let alone two, but tucked into one another in post-coital bliss, neither of them could care. She grabbed the blanket and her heavy jacket to keep them warm. With one last kiss, Jughead drifted into the best sleep he had ever had, unaware of the troubles tomorrow would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> Also check out @buggiebreak where I'm helping host Camp Bughead which takes up the entire summer haitus!! Check it out <3


	10. Thistlehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chills, Tori! Chills!-Kayla, my beta
> 
> or
> 
> “Or… or you could stay,” Betty whispered. She leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long guys, seriously. It's just a slow role over here after getting a job and everything! Thanks to everyone who follows this story. I seriously love and appreciate every last one of you <3 This was a hard chapter to write, but it's a big heavy fluff one followed by a giant plot move! So it's important! Also thanks to everyone who reacted so well to the smut last chapter, not sure why, I always get nervous writing it/

Dear Diary,

It’s startling to think that four hours can make all the difference in the world. Every four hours, more than 25,000 people will die. In just four hours, an entire family  — an entire state, could lose their home from flooding. Four hours is such little time in the grand scheme of things. In the blink of an eye, so much can change. So much  _ has _ changed.

While I’m writing this, my hands won’t stop shaking. Last night felt like a dream, and today has been nothing short of a nightmare. I can’t think straight. I can’t walk straight. Everything feels like a lie, shrouded in a huge cloud of fog that would take category four hurricane winds to blow away and reveal the truth.

None of it feels real. If I’m lucky, perhaps I’ll wake up back in the Blue and Gold office, wrapped tightly in Jughead’s arms. I’ll tiredly flutter my eyelashes up at him and he’ll smile down at me. Warmth will spread throughout my body, mixing with happiness and delight, as I remember how blessed I feel to be with him — to be loved by someone as wonderful as him. He’ll make me coffee in that little pot and it’ll gurgle and screech, and I’ll threaten to buy him a new one. Domestic bliss will tingle my nerves as I taste our future. A future far, far away from the nonsense and confusion of Riverdale. A future without untrusting alcoholic fathers, and controlling mothers, and sisters who disappear without warning.

Right now, all I can do is cling to that dream and pray, pray loudly, hoping that it will be heard by someone with enough grace to chase away whatever cruel gothic horror plot line has infiltrated my life. I don’t feel safe. Not in my home, not at my school, nowhere but Jughead’s tight embrace, and even that I’m afraid of losing. As the minutes tick by and I wonder if the medicine is helping him at all.

I don’t know why I’m writing in this anymore. I’m sure my parents are searching for even the smallest reason to send me away, to lock me up after all the meddling I’ve been doing. If FP hasn’t told them about mine and Jughead’s investigation trip to his home already, it will come out soon. Whatever sinister reason they’re employing him for I’m sure they want me far away from it. Without the pageant and my mother’s bizarre dedication it, I’m sure I would be shipped off to some Swiss boarding school — or worse, the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. I was hoping to use whatever leverage I’d gathered from the Serpent King to help Jughead’s cause. Tonight’s dinner development makes that near impossible.

Jughead once told me he thought that nightmares were the manifestation of our inner fears. When he first said that, I remember laughing, throwing a small piece of shredded paper at him and giggling until I was all out of air as our serious discussion devolved into an all-out paper shred war — those were simpler days, easier, even in the midst of an investigation concerning my family’s conspiratorial nature and his father’s involvements with a group of mysterious maple syrup tycoons. After today, everything has changed, and not for the better.

I’m not safe and Jughead… Jughead certainly isn’t — not where he is. I can’t say where, or even what. As much as I want to document this time in however I can to cope — and maybe one day to help Juggie with his novel — I know my parents will eventually find this, no matter where I hide it. And that fear terrifies me too. They’re my parents, supposed to be dedicated to loving and protecting me, their daughter, their “little maple princess”. Now I feel sick even remembering those moments of kindness and nurturing.

When Polly first disappeared, I remember my dad would sit in the basement and watch old home movies of the two of us on repeat. Once in a stupor, neither mother or I could wake him up, just sit back and watch him cry over the same clip of Polly spinning in circles in her favorite pink tutu. It all feels a lot more sinister now though. Now longer the sad ravings of a broken-hearted father and instead a messy mystery without any clear answers. Especially after what happened today.

Why? Why Why Why?  _ Why _ ? It’s the only thing on my mind. The word repeats like a record scratched. Why did everything crumble and go to shit as quickly as it did? There was so much to do. So much to plan. There were things that needed to be done. And now, with the Maple Festival only a month away, I’ll be so focused on appeasing my parents in some pageant I’ve hated since I was thirteen that I won’t have the time I need to figure out what’s been going on behind closed doors in Thornhill. I’m sure my parents are up now, whispering about dirty deeds in the confines of their bedroom, tucked out of view and away from scrutiny. But I know. And soon they’ll know that I know and whatever storm that follows will be loud and terrifying. Hurricane Cooper will lay waste to anything in its warpath.

For now, the only solace I have is waiting for me at Thistle House, a hidden secret in a house owned by the late Nana Cooper before her — long waited for — passing into the great unknown. Without it, I wonder where I would be. I want to rip off my robe and run as quickly as I can, ignoring the way my feet squish on the wet grass until I’m in the only quiet place, with the only thing that makes me feel safe.

I love you.

Please God, keep us all safe. I’m begging you. Every moment I’m trapped in this place, I hold my breath in fear. More and more I put the pieces of this giant puzzle together and less and less I like the picture that’s being made.

With Love,

Betty Cooper

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\----

\--

-

_ Four Hours Earlier _

When Betty woke up, beside the man she had just given herself completely to, the air felt light on her skin, even as she shivered. Her jacket was draped over them enough to shield their naked bodies from the cold winter breeze. She shivered again and curled close to Jughead  — a perpetual space heater of a man. Trying to relieve some of the bitter chill in her bones, Betty stuffed her toes under his legs as she pressed back, but his skin felt searing to the touch, startling her into pulling away. Breaking through the static atmosphere, Betty picked up on his quietly labored breathing, watching his chest hiccup with each rise and fall. She reached out again and nearly hissed when she touched his forehead. Hot. Impossibly, impractically, unbearably hot.

Jughead was an idiot and a fool. She had tried so hard to make sure he kept warm tonight, and it hadn’t worked. This was the man who loved to wallow in his misery alone, so intent on keeping his focus on her struggles and woes that he would rather freeze to death in the school newspaper’s office than admit that he needed help. It was sweet at best and frustrating at most, this self sacrificing attitude of his. If there was a way to throw himself on some type of proverbial sword, her boyfriend would most certainly find it and follow through spectacularly.

She reached out and placed a delicate hand on his forehead. It burned under her touch, like a cooktop left on the stove for too long without any oil to absorb the heat. Quickly, Betty scrambled to her purse, wrapping the one blanket he had as tightly around herself as she could. There wasn’t a thermometer in there like she had hoped  — not as ridiculous of a dream as one would assume, her purse was overflowing with practical things  — but there was a bottle of fever reducer that often got passed around backstage during pageants where everyone was fighting off the flu. By the coffee pot, Jughead had a large gallon jug of water, to be used for coffee and the water she had started forcing down his throat to keep him hydrated. She poured a glass and made her way back to her sleeping beauty.

Even with the bright flush on his cheeks and the sweat on his brow, Betty was sure he looked like an angel. So soft and delicate  — a stark contrast from the human barbed wire he liked to think himself as. She ran a hand through his sticky hair and kissed his forehead. Jughead groaned under her touched, reaching forward and gripping her hand. He wasn’t completely awake yet, that much she could tell, but even this sleepy tenderness was enough to make her heart flutter. Was it possible to love someone more each and every day you spent with them?

“Juggie,” she whispered, pulling on his shoulder to help him sit up. “You’re sick. You need to take this to help your fever.”

“If it tastes like grape I don’t want it,” he grumbled.

Childish. He was that too, in the most endearing ways. Betty shook her head and kept pulling him up until he was sitting with his back against the old leather of the couch. It crackled and crunched with his sweat. “I promise it’s not grape. It’s not even those kids chewable ones. It’s just an Advil, but you need it. You’re scaring me with how hot you are.”

“You too, Betts. I get chills every time I see you.”

Betty rolled her eyes, but finally he took the small cup of water in shaky hands and drank it back with a wince. He looked lost, eyes glassy from whatever had been lurking in the shadows for the past few weeks, finally taking him over after their… extensive workout last night.

“Lame joke, but you’re feeling bad so I’ll allow it. But I’m worried about you, Juggie. You’re really warm. Like burning up and I can’t tell how bad it is. You might need an ice bath or something to help calm it down. And they don’t have those here. Maybe you could… maybe you could come home with me? To help.”

“No offense Betty, but I can’t imagine me walking through the front doors of Thornhill with you covered in hickies would work out too well. Your mom would probably shoot me and your dad would pretend he didn’t see it. I’d end up as fertilizer for one of your maple blood trees.”

As much as she wanted to deny that possibility, it was not outside the realm of reality. Anything her parents did at this point was not a surprise. Days ticked by and she realized that the people who has raised her were full of their own terrifying secrets, some running so thick and deep they were probably putrefied and rotted to the core. Something wicked was buried in the roots of Thornhill Manor.

Even without the knowledge of familial homicide and involvement in kidnapping, Betty would not have trusted her parents to act rationally when she carried her exhausted, battered, and very ill boyfriend in. Normally she would suggest something sneaky. There was a ladder often used by the gardners out by her window, but Jughead was in no shape to try and scale up three stories. He might make it one and tumble back down to the ground with a sickening crunch.

It was then she remembered Thistlehouse, tucked deep within the property of her home, a small shack that was now left unused but once belonged to Nana Cooper  — an evil, vile woman who only Hal would bother to visit. Betty hardly remembered her besides the roughness with which she grabbed her dresses or ears when she did something Nana deemed to be “immodest” or “sinful.” The small house was left all but abandoned near the edge of the Cooper’s expansive acreage: the perfect place to hide her sick lover. She could check on him whenever she pleased, and the fire place would keep him warm well into late December. Anything would be better than here, that she was sure of.

“Good thing we won’t go through the front door then. Or into Thornhill at all. I’ve got somewhere way better to go.”

Jughead looked skeptical  — or maybe it was the pure exhaustion she could see written all over his handsome features  — but he didn’t argue, instead following her lead and picking up his clothes. His hands shook until Betty had to guide his hands, helping him pull up his socks and shoes, and the warmest sweater she had found in the small box his clothes were hidden in. There were still a few holes in it that made her frown. After his living situation was rectified, she would need to severely redo his wardrobe with things that were actually going to keep him from freezing to death in a New York winter.

“What stuff do you need from here? You can come back later to get it all, but you’re not living here anymore. I’ve got somewhere better.”

There was a sound that Betty suspected might have been a protest under normal circumstances. But Jughead was too weak, laying barely on the couch as he strained his eyes to force them to stay open. The medicine had helped him regain some coherency, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. He needed a cold bath, some soup, and whatever else she could provide him with during this time of need. It was some good she could bring to the world, bring to someone, after all the pain and suffering her family had brought upon Riverdale.

Jughead pointed at a few things here and there that he didn’t want left. Among his more prized possession were his laptop, the few clothes he owned, the signature crown beanie, and a ratted old stuffed dog. Betty made note to ask him about it later. There was no way she was going to be able to drive him, sick and tired, on his motorcycle, especially since she had no idea how to drive it in the first place. Her car wasn’t around so she called the only person in town she knew would be willing to lend a helping hand this early on a Saturday.

When Veronica’s BMW driven by a kind elderly man who seemed far too gentle to work for a family like the Lodge’s  — that was a mystery she would figure out another time  — showed up after only a few minutes of wait, Betty smiled. Friends in high places were worth something, but it was even better when they were best friends. 

“You do know I’m not an Uber, right?” Veronica started, but one look at the pale Jughead had her changing her tune. “Oh my God, he looks awful. Are you sure you want a ride home and not to the hospital?”

“No hospital,” Jughead groaned, curling up with his head on Betty’s shoulder, shivering from the cold or the heat, she couldn’t tell which.

Betty shook her head. “No. He would never let me pay for it and his family doesn’t have the money to right now. Especially with…” but that wasn’t Veronica’s business to hear so she simply shook her head. “Forget about that. But don’t take me straight up to Thornhill. I’ll show you guys the road to Thistlehouse. It’s a little out of the way, but there is still a road, last I checked, unless the gardeners have started getting rid of it.”

“A little off roading then today, Miss?” the driver asked with a chuckle. His rosy cheeks half reminded Betty of a storybook Santa Claus.

“Let’s hope not, or else Daddy will never let me hear the end of it. We’ll have to stop by that cupcake place on our way back as an apology. And as far as you know, we stopped by Betty’s to give her a morning breakfast treat, not to pick up her and her vagabond boyfriend after what I can only assume to be a late night tryst. And don’t try to deny it, B. Later, once we know he’s not dead, I want every last detail.”

“Would you like me to take a ruler to my dick? Use a tape measurer for the girth while I’m there?” Jughead tried to roll his eyes, but even that was only half assed at best.

For her part, Veronica played along well. “Could you? Oh Jughead, you’re such a doll.”

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, although Betty felt her best friend’s curious brown eyes baring down into her painfully hard. Veronica Lodge was a gossip monster. No doubt this information would spread quickly to Kevin, who would gobble it down like it was a slice of birthday cake served on a silver platter. School on Monday was going to be hell. She hoped Veronica had enough sense and kindness to keep names out of it. There was a reputation to uphold and her and Jughead had decided it best to keep it locked under heavy key.

They pulled up into the gravel driveway of Thistlehouse. It looked only slightly more decripet than the last time she had been here, the day after Nana Cooper had died and her and Polly got to pick one piece of jewelry they wanted most out of her expansive collection. She had chosen a small silver plated cross necklace, still hanging from her neck, and Polly had snatched the only family wedding ring, loudly proclaiming that it belonged to her whenever she got married. Everything had been much simpler before things had crumbled into nothingness. 

Jughead stumbled out of the car, gripping tightly to Betty’s hand, waking her up from whatever wistful daydream had overtaken her. She turned to Veronica with pleading eyes. “I promise I’ll explain everything later. Just… keep it a secret okay? For now? I’m begging you.”

She sealed her lips and smiled. “Secrets safe with me, B. You know I’d never rat you out about anything. But as payment, I do want every single smutty detail on Monday. Text me if you need anything else. I’ll be here for you, just like I always am.”

It takes a bit of effort on her part, but Betty finally manages to pull Jughead into the house and plop him on the couch. The inside smelled musty with the same pungent lavender that always clung to her elderly grandmother’s frame. It was nowhere near as bad as it was back when Nana Cooper was still clambering around like the crypt keeper, but it still perforated the air, making her choke back a cough. Jughead was all but dead on the couch, fast asleep as the fever threatened to consume him again.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Betty was terrified for him. It was unusual to see Jughead so weak and worn down. She hurried to the old medicine cabinets, rifling through in hopes of finding anything that would aid her boyfriend in a speedier and less painful recovery. A few bottles had been kept for the occasion that a housekeeper needed a place to stay. Only one of them wasn’t expired, but she thanked whoever was listening that this meant she could avoid entering her house until everything was under control here.

The cold syrup bottle was caked with dried medicine, making it difficult to open the lid. She struggled with it, cursing when it tumbled to the ground. The loud clack didn’t even disturb her sleeping boy. Finally she managed to get the bottle open and tip his head back to swallow.

“Okay Juggie. I know you don’t want it, but it’s time for more medicine.”

He groaned and tried to protest, but he was too weak to fight. After a small struggle, she managed to slip the grape flavored goo down his throat. There was an annoyed cough, followed by a soft sputter, but he finally opened his eyes wide enough to glare at her.

“I thought I said no grape?”

“I hope you can forgive me,” she gives a little kiss to his cheek. “Can you get undressed by yourself? You need a cold bath to help your fever lesson.”

Jughead laughed. “If you wanted me out of my clothes all you had to do was ask, babe.” But the laughter died on his tongue with a groan as he kicked off his shoes. Pain made him shiver and her heart broke.

“I know. I know it sucks and it hurts but it’ll feel better soon.”

She turned the water on, filling the tub to the brim with chilled liquid, and helped him step into the water. Her boyfriend hissed in pain but lowered himself down. Just last night she had seen him undressed before her and she had been drinking him in. Now, it was clinical, and all that mattered was getting him to feel better as fast she could.

Jughead smiled sheepishly up at her. “Sorry. This wasn’t the plan I had when we fell asleep after last night. I just wanted… I wanted to maybe go with you to Pop’s or something. It’s not busy this early in the morning so we could probably manage it without getting caught. Then maybe we’d do some investigating and if I was lucky you’d let me cop a feel again. But instead you have to take care of me. Also, this water is really cold.”

“It’s supposed to be cold. It’ll help you get your temperature down.” She reached out and took his hand, colder now thanks to the water, and planted a soft kiss to his palm. “I don’t mind taking care of you. After everything you’ve done for me Juggie, this is absolutely the least I can do. And I know we… I know we decided no one should know yet, but I’m sure Veronica’s figured it out.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m sure Toni’s figured it out by now too since she called the other night and I wouldn’t fucking shut up about you. Her words, not mine. I don’t mind keeping it a secret as long as you want, but I also don’t mind airing it out whenever you want to. It’s sort of up to you.”

“I don’t know if I want to have this conversation right now, Jug. Not while you’re sick. That’s seriously all I care about right now. And we both decided that wasn’t something we could do until after the pageant. And hopefully we’ll know what’s happening with Polly by then too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.  I get it. Really, I’m not mad about it. I just… feel terrible right now,” he groans and rests his head on the cool tile. “Can I be done in the bath now?”

Once the water was warmed up  — from both time and his body  — Betty helped him out and into a pair of pajamas. They were just as worn down as all the rest of his clothes and it made her heart hurt. She had always known Jughead’s life was not an easy one, but when the proof was laid out for her to so plainly see, it was impossible to ignore. 

There were two bedrooms in Thistlehouse: the spare and the one that had previously belonged to her grandmother. The latter was filled bottom to top with varying sized cruxifices that Nana Cooper had thought to be suitable decorations. Betty figured this would not be an ideal place for Jughead to get some well earned rest, as it had frightened her, and even Polly, as a children. The spare bedroom had a fireplace tucked in the corner that she quickly filled up with logs. Lighting a fire was one of the few practical things her father had taught her, along with how to work on vintage cars, a talent she was excited to one day share with her boyfriend. (Maybe, if she was lucky, he would bend her over the hood of one and take her so hard it made her scream. That was a fantasy to be explored at a later date.)

“How do you feel?” she asked once he was properly tucked in.

Jughead nodded, rubbing his head against her hand like a sleepy cat. His eyes fluttered closed and she could hear his breathing start to even out. “Better. Thanks for this. I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“Or… or you could stay,” Betty whispered. She leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “Stay.”

“You’re offering your home up to me. Are you sure that’s smart? What if Mommy and Daddy Cooper found out about it? I’m not sure being skinned alive is high on my priority list.”

“No one ever comes here. And besides, I want you to stay here. Think of all the late night meetings, Romeo. Besides that, it’s way better if you stay here. I know with you here that I won’t come into the The Blue and Gold Office early one morning and find you frozen to death in you're seat. Please. For me. Just… just stay here. It doesn’t have to be permanent, just until you find a better place.”

Maybe it wasn’t fair to take advantage of his exhausted state, pushing him until he finally agreed to her request. But it was better this way. He would be safer here than tucked in the corner of the Blue and Gold, where any minute Weatherbee might find him and kick him out  — of both the school and his temporary residence.

“Okay,” Jughead nodded, eyes closed tight. “Okay.”

And then he was fast asleep, looking like a beautiful fallen angel. Betty kissed his forehead sweetly. She set the medicine by his head, with a little note instructing him to take a bit more whenever he woke up, and to text her when he did. Later in the day, she wanted to come check on him again, but there were a list of lessons her mother wanted her to do, not to mention some pageant training scheduled for late afternoon.

Betty snuck back up to Thornhill, checking the time. It was only a little past one in the afternoon, four hours since she had woken up with a scarily sick boyfriend by her side. She was floating, proud of how much work she had managed to accomplish in such little time. Her keys jingled against the doorframe. No doubt her parents would have questions when she finally arrived, but hopefully  — with a little persuasion in the way of baked treats  — Veronica would be willing to be her alibi.

The door opened and she made her way to the dining room, hoping to snag leftovers of what the chef had baked for breakfast. “Mom! Dad! I’m ho — ”

Her keys clattered to the floor as she made eye contact with someone she was sure to be a spector. At the table, sitting beside her parents, was the ghostly white form of Polly Cooper. She ran to her sister, throwing her arms tightly around her. The tears were coming from both of them, impossible to keep up with.

“Oh my god, Polly you’re here! You’re here and you’re alive. Where have you been?”

“She stumbled home this morning,” Hal said. “But don’t overwhelm her, Betty. She hasn’t spoken since she got back. I think it’s best we give her some time to think and relax until she’s comfortable speaking again.”

Betty tried to pull back, to look at her parents and figure out what on earth they were talking about. But Polly pulled her down, her voice barely loud enough to hear over the drop of a pin, and whispered. “Don’t go looking for things, Betty. You don’t want to know what you’ll find. Please.”

And then she was silent once more. The air chilled and she felt ghost breath on her spine as she surveyed the room. Her parents were staring at her with identical wide smiles, tears she couldn’t determine the truth of pooled in their eyes. Her mother reached out and stroked Polly’s hand.

“I can’t believe my little girl is home.”

No. Betty wasn’t safe here. Not anymore. And neither was Jughead, tucked away at Thistlehouse, without a clue in the world that he had just stumbled into a hungry Lion’s Den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Chapter 11: Miss Maple Princess
> 
> If the angst is painful try checking out my other fic [ Kiss Me Like I've Never Been Kissed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14555331/chapters/33632040) . Which is quite literally just a fluff fest


	11. Preview to the Pageant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Polly a mute and the Princess Maple Pageant looming just over the horizon, Betty and Jughead start putting together the pieces of their plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my beta @lilibug--xx for being amazing! I know this chapter isn't what the name was originally supposed to be, but that's because I changed up one or two things in my plotting of it! The next chapter will be the pageant! Thanks for reading you guys don't know how much it means to me <3
> 
> Also, there's a little smut in this chapter <3 hope you guys enjoy <3 <3 <3

I realize I haven’t spoken much on Polly Cooper  —  one of the key players in our small town murder mystery. Like Mr. Body from  _ Clue _ she has acted from the sidelines, like an apparition, neither seen nor heard from as most of the story rolls onward. But without a body, it is impossible to determine the cause of death, or in this case, the cause of life. The fact that she was neither dead nor missing anymore threw a wrench in plans we had not fully concocted. What was even worse  — she was refusing to talk, an important part of any ideas we had. The loose thread that connected all our ill conceived thoughts were that we would find a way to rescue Polly Cooper and she would immediately begin to explain the terrible predicament she had been trapped in and how she had stumbled into it. Instead, we were both met with a radio silence that shook Betty to her very core.

For what I heard and saw growing up, Polly was not the kind of person to sit back and allow the world to run her over. Much like her sister, she would not let injustices sit by and go unnoticed. Unlike Betty, most injustices she fixated on revolved around herself and the struggles that came with being part of the famous Cooper lineage. At nine years old, she had attempted to run away three times. By sixteen her disappearances were common place in Riverdale media.

All of the responsibility and weight of eldest Cooper fell on Betty’s shoulders once her sister was deemed irresponsible by a board of trustees. The company would still legally belong to Polly and she would have to be trained in the art of acting accordingly  — there was a brief period of time sending her off to an Alpine finishing school was tossed around casually in the public radar  — and in all the ins and outs of the business, while Betty acted as the shining symbol of propriety, perfecting the image that Polly had nearly ruined with her tantrums. Pageants had become the best source of positive attention. People devoured the good girl imagine she presented on stage, showering her in praise that helped to feed her badly damaged ego. Behind the scenes of their Stepford family lifestyle was an endless barratement on both girls. One chose to run, again and again, while the other sat by and accepted her fate with a winning grin and a collection of dazzling silver crowns.

From an early age, Alice and Hal Cooper had tried to instill in them a sibling rivalry like no other. If either of them wanted affection then they would have to compete for it. The pageants were the start of that, but it didn’t take long for them to learn that only one of their daughters was willing to dress up and parade around stage. It didn’t take long for Polly to stop playing their games altogether but Betty couldn’t. At any sign of praise she would jump to her feet and perform a series of parlor tricks  — for an audience on a grand stage, or at a dinner party, where a piano would sit in the corner and she would serenade the guests with her tuned and tortured voice, like a caged bird belting her heart out in hopes she might one day be free.

Freedom for Polly meant a little barn on the edge of New York, far away from her parent’s watchful gaze, married to a man named Jason whom she adored. For Betty, it meant a free ride to a college on the west coast and a promise she could do with her life what she pleased, within reason. Within reason was a caveat that dangled from many of her dreams. Nothing too spectacular to take away from the business. Nothing too practical to make her seem stuff. If they could keep her as a beauty queen, they just might have. With a promise of any future away from the watchful and scrutinizing gaze of the Coopers’, they each worked hard at their goals in the ways the knew how. Never did the rivalry break them in the ways their parents had planned. The sisters still sat up late into the night, whispers stories and hopes and dreams to one another.

When Polly returned home, Betty tried her best to rekindle the light she always saw dancing in her elder sister’s eyes, but it had been snuffed out. Now she was Rapunzel, locked away in the highest room with her windows barred, refusing to speak. It didn’t matter how hard we tried to get her to talk, the only thing she would give was her cryptic warnings. 

The red thread that connected every part of this story together was frayed and frazzled, a tangled mess of unanswered questions and pieces of a larger puzzle. None of it fit quite right together, like a giant hole was missing or we needed a pair of scissors to finally cut up the mess and tie it back together ourselves. Without Polly’s testimony, the options were limited at best. Something had to be done. With a leap of faith, I vowed to follow Betty on whatever path she chose to take.

They say that curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. And Betty, with her eyes finally open to all the cruel dealings her parents participated in, at least to the smallest degree, was insatiable for more — any drop she could squeeze out from the tattered bits of facts we had to go off of. Even with her sister at home she vowed not to rest until she understood the magnitude of the trauma Polly had suffered in her captivity, how my father participated in it all, and why this had all happened in the first place. With every step closer to the truth, the air became thicker with worry between us. We were unsure what waited for us at the end of the complicated maze we followed into the very heart of Riverdale’s darkness  — death or satisfaction.

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Jughead watched Betty with a weary gaze as she paced around the room. His health had just begun improving and seeing her was making his head start to spin, the tea she had made for him burning the back of his throat. Whenever she would catch him making a face, she would smack his leg and tell him to drink it all down, until he got to the very bottom of the tea leaves. Part of him couldn’t blame her for her worries. Even he would have alarmed himself with a fever that high, though he can’t imagine actually doing something about it.

On top of her job as nurse, she had also been repeatedly harassed by Veronica for details on whatever “arrangement you and Jughead have going on”, and taken up the charge in finding out what was happening in Polly’s mind. The girl had been relatively silent since her return, muttering pleasantries at the dinner table but not much else. Fear had soaked into the very foundation of Thornhill, and he could feel it all the way out in Thisthlehouse. Sometimes, the house would shake, and not from a particularly nasty wind storm, but like the bones of the home knew that something was amiss. The fire would flicker into embers and he would hear a howl in the distance that sounded like the faint screams of a broken girl. Jughead would wake in cold sweats and check his phone, frantically texting Betty to make sure she was alright.

Somehow, none of the Coopers had caught wind of his residence, despite the smoke billowing from the Chimney and Betty’s frequent visits down there. Whenever they asked, she told him she claimed to be trying to “reconnect” with her deceased grandmother. The only reconnecting they hoped they would do soon was in the bed under the cover of darkness. One touch of Betty left him craving more, though she quickly shot down all attempts in his currently exhausted state. At least school had shut down for holiday break early. No one missed his absence  — not that he thought anyone would regardless  — but with the pageant drawing ever closer, visitations with Betty were starting to get limited, including the time they had to figure out their next step.

No one could get more than a few words from Polly. The one time he had snuck up to Thornhill to try his hand at things, they had sent her into a panic so loud, a candlestick had clattered to the floor and his later exit was less than graceful in his current state. After one nearly sprained ankle and a long interrogation from the Coopers, they were still nearly empty handed except for a few vague threats and what they had managed to gather on their own. Betty was starting to get desperate.

“What are we going to do Juggie? I feel like I have absolutely nothing to go off of and we’re stuck. We’re stuck and Polly won’t talk and my parents all but want me on house arrest until the pageant is done and over with. What are we doing? What are we going to do?”

He watched her panic rise and standing up on his still bruised ankle, tried his best to calm her. Practically collapsing into his hug, Jughead watched her body start to shake with worried tears, gripping his sweater as tightly as she could. After a few seconds, she managed to calm herself into a state where words made sense again.

“What we’re going to do,” Jughead started slowly, “is what we always do. We’re going to sit down, take a deep breath, and figure out what our next step is. We don’t have the missing person board with us, but we have our brains and what’s inside of them. And I think we’ve got a story pieced together so far.”

“Yeah? You think?”

She was starting to sound hopeful again, so he continued, pulling her down onto the soft cushion of the bed. “I know. Your parents probably paid my dad to abduct Polly because she knew something. Maybe she knew about the Blossom/Cooper relation, but I think it goes way deeper than that. She found something out that they wanted her to keep secret about. We don’t have proof of a lot of things, but I feel in my gut that we’re right about this. We just need more. A little bit more and we’re closing in on something that makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

“I just wish she’d talk to us. Any of us. She won’t even talk to me and Jughead  —  she used to tell me everything under the sun. If her and Jason so much as argued over the type of coffee they were going to have before class I knew about it. And now she won’t tell me what happened to her!”

“She’s trying to protect you, Betty. And honestly I see where she’s coming from. If Jellybean ended up in something like this, I’d probably tell her to go away too.” Just the thought of his spunky little sister getting involved in whatever mess they’d tumbled into made his blood boil and his skin crawl. As an older sibling, he understood Polly’s decision making, but as a reporter, it certainly threw a large obstacle in their path. “But I’m going to contradict that and follow you down whatever rabbit hole this leads to. Because I’m here for you.”

“You’re the best guy in the entire world, you know that?”

“Probably not the best but I like to think I’m relatively high up there, at least in Riverdale. Not much to compare me to when we’ve got the Reggie Mantles and the Chuck Claytons of the world out there.”

Betty laughed and moved closer to him, tangling their hands together. It felt good to be so connected. Some days, he was sure they were cut out of the same stone, made for each other at their very cores, and that’s why it felt like home to just be under her touch. Even in the most turbulent water he felt good by her side.

Interrupting their tender moment, her phone began to buzz: an alarm indicating how little time they had left together before she was forced into her intense pageant training routines. “I have to go soon. The stage calls, as they say.”

And then it hit, like a flash of lightning had struck in the perfect spot at the perfect time.  He grabbed her face and kissed her forehead.

“I have a brilliant idea but you’ll have to hear me out.”

“I admit I’m both terrified and intrigued. Hit me with it.”

The plan fell out in a flurry of strung together words and stumbles over breaths. “What if we get someone to open Cheryl up a little, see if she knows anything about what’s happening from Jason? There has to be something that the Blossoms know and I think it’s worth investigating. I mean what other reason could there be other than something to do with the Blossoms? That’s the reason your family does anything.”

“That’s genius Jug! But,” she grimaced, “how on earth are we going to get her to talk? She can’t stand me and I can’t recall a time she ever looked at you as if you were more than dirt on the ground.”

“I think… I might have a plan. But you’ll have to trust me.”

“Always.”

Jughead smiled and pulled her in for a quick kiss. “So my friend Toni  — I’m sure you remember her, well she’s certainly got a thing for Miss Blossom. What if we got her to invade the pageant, an underground espionage if you will, and she flirts with Cheryl until she’s got something for us.”

“Toni? She doesn't’t exactly seem the pageant type, Jug. And I don’t mean physically more like… mentally? How would we even get her to agree to this?”

“Honestly, you give T the opportunity at someone like Cheryl and she’s here for it. She’s got a thing for helping closeted girls understand themselves better. Plus, she loves redheads. Like really loves them. And to quote ‘it’s a shame the only other redhead in this town is attached to some northsider football jock’. So I think she’d be pretty excited at the chance to flirt with our very own Queen of the Damned.”

“You… are an absolute genius Jughead Jones,” she grabbed his face and kissed him again, a wicked smile gracing her lips. “You know, I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to leave, but I think you deserve something really nice.”

Before he could properly think, Betty was on her knees in front of him, fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Jughead hoped his mouth to speak but nothing came out but a low whimper. She giggled and smiled up at him. “Excited? I am too. I, um… I’ve never done this before but Veronica’s told me a few pointers. Just… tell me if it’s bad. Or if I’m doing it wrong. Or you don’t like it. Or if you do like it. Make lots of noise one way or the other.”

He sucked a sharp breath of air inward and released it in a slow hiss as he shook with excitement. Watching Betty slowly take him in her hands, freeing him from the tight constraints of his boxers, made his eyes glaze over. The air felt against his uncovered skin, and he shivered with delight . Jughead reached out and tangled his hands in her hair, instinctively pulling her slowly down until her mouth was wrapped around the soft spongy head.

With every touch, fire curled in his veins. Slowly she went further and further down, pressing her flat tongue against sensitive skin. His head started to spin. Every rational thought was ignored in favor of primal instinct. He pressed closer to her, rocking his hips into her mouth. Little moans escaped her tightly pursed lips and she wrapped her hands around the base she couldn’t quite fit in.

Jughead tried to keep his eyes open to watch. There was not a more beautiful sight than this in his mind. Or maybe there was, if only they were tangled together in bed, touching each other in a less hurried state than they had their first time. It certainly would ease the ache in his still healing bones. He could feel the edge approaching, like he was overlooking a precipice into something magical and was just about to jump in. And then she looked up at him with hooded green eyes and he was tumbling over.

“B — Betty... Betty  —  shit, I…” he tried to warn her, but it was too late as his hot cum coated the back of her throat.

She pulled back with a smile. He watched as she swallowed it down, winking up at him and exuding pride he could practically taste in the air. “You’re proud of yourself aren’t you?”

“Very. Consider that a ‘thank you for being awesome’ blow job. Now I have to go brush my teeth and then head to practice.” Betty kissed him again. He could practically taste himself on her tongue. “I’ll text you when I’m done. Tell Toni we need to meet her at Pop’s tonight. Registration for the pageant closes tomorrow so if we’re going to do this, then it’s going to have to happen tonight.”

“Consider it done.”

With that she left, and Jughead came face to face with the horrifying realization that he was going to have to somehow convince Toni to meet him and Betty tonight at Pop’s. The promise of a cheeseburger could usually do it, but that with the Maple Princess sitting a few feet in front of her, he doubted she would be particularly kind even when bribed with a small basket of fries. Toni answered on the second ring.

“Well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure, Jones? Last I heard you and your pastel princess had ridden away to her charming home in the back of Veronica Lodge’s limo. I never knew you were into that sort of stuff, Jug.”

He groaned and contemplated hanging up his phone and coming up with a different plan that involved someone who wasn’t going to mercilessly tease him. But, there was really no one else he’d call in such a pinch. Toni was loyal and trustworthy, even if she did love ripping him over the slightest thing.

“I’m not and you know it. Besides, how did you know about that?”

“The Serpents always have eyes on you. It’s part of FP’s rules. He doesn’t like his son getting too far away from danger. Usually I’m the one that keeps an eye out, but Sweet Pea’s the one who caught you with the Cooper girl. Thank you for that, I earned a cold fifty out of those boys. They said there wouldn’t be a day you’d ever roll into bed with a girl, let alone a Northsider. They don’t know you’ve been harboring that crush since you were a fetus.”

His father had people watching him. That was certainly a disconcerting bit of knowledge he now had to keep hidden. Truthfully, it wasn’t surprising; FP liked to do things he thought were in people’s best interest but only ended up causing turmoil for those involved. Hopefully, he had enough love for his son to keep quiet about the fact that Jughead and the Cooper’s youngest were very much involved from one another  — especially around his employers. With the Serpents watching him like a hawk and house arrest being a very real possibility for Betty, they were going to need to be even more careful than they had originally planned. Affection would have to be cut down to zero outside the wooden walls of Thistlehouse. While the thought made his heart ache, Jughead knew it was for the best. On their way to Pop’s tonight, he’d make sure to fill his girlfriend in.

“I actually... have a question for you about that. Or rather a favor. Meet me at Pop’s tonight?”

“Is the Maple Princess going to be there?”

Toni groaned from the other end of the line. Whatever she was doing, she stopped dead. “Ugh. Nope, sorry. I don’t think the two of us would get along very well. We’re like oil and water. No amount of burgers will get me to do that.”

“T, please. I need you for this. There’s something really horrible going on and it needs to be fixed. Riverdale is spiraling into hell and I need information. You’re the only person who can get it for me. I’m begging you.”

It went silent for a few seconds. He couldn’t even hear her breathing on the other end, until she finally sighed. “Fine. But you owe me big-fucking-time, Jughead. Beyond big time. Understood? I want you to feed me until I’m stuffed and then there’s an IOU that I get to cash in from you whenever, however I want.”

“Understood. Thank you so much, Toni. Seriously. We both owe you, Betty and I. I’ll see you at Pop’s at nine thirty. And when you show up, keep your mind open for me?”

“That does not instill confidence in me, Jughead. But fine. I’ll have an open mind. See you tonight and if you’re late then I get to skin you alive.”

Jughead laughed. “That’s fair. See you then, Toni.”

There wasn’t much else for him to do the rest of the day other than wait for Betty to come back. He laid down and typed away at his novel, trying to find parts that needed work. With the story still incomplete, there wasn’t much progress to move forward on. He wrote and rewrote theories. Sections that needed a bit of sprucing up, he focused on. By hour two of it, Jughead was bored.

Being sick was miserable. Betty had all but forbidden him from any sort of exertion that might make his sensitive body fall victim to the cold that lingered on the edge of his mind. His head was still foggy, nose still stuffy, and his throat croaked if he talked for too long. To help ease some of the pain, he poured himself another cup of tea. Time ticked by slowly and still no word from Betty. Whatever she was busy with was certainly time consuming  — who would have thought that beauty queens practiced their routines for so long? Jughead laid his head down, promising himself just a few minutes of sleep. When he woke up, it was nearly seven in the evening.

Another hour of waiting  — mostly laying in bed trying to get his headache to dissipate  — Betty finally returned. After a kiss, they shuffled into her mini cooper as he explained just how much teeth pulling it had taken to get Toni to agree to this meeting.

“I’m not sure how well this is going to go, but it’s worth a shot. I think the Cheryl bribe will work but sometimes… she likes to say no just to prove a point.”

Betty nodded, taking his hand and squeezing gently. “I hope it works too. I’ll make sure to sit on the opposite side of the booth from you. So people don’t get suspicious. But Juggie… after this is all over, I want us to be a couple in front of everyone, out in the open. How does that sound?”

He can’t help but beam. “You know, that doesn’t sound have bad. Think of the clout I’d get dating River Vixen captain and resident Maple Princess. I might not get pushed into lockers anymore.”

“Oh ha ha. You’re so funny Juggie.”

They turned into the diner and confirmed their plan one last time before setting foot into Pop Tate’s. For it being a twenty-four hour restaurant, there weren’t many people around this late at night, which was really all for the best. That meant less witness. Less people to potentially catch on to their conspiracy. The last thing anyone needed was for Clifford Blossom or Hal Cooper finding out just what they were doing.

Toni was sitting in the back booth, a plethora of food spread out around her. She was unabashedly drinking what appeared to be her third milkshake of the night. Judging by her smile and Pop’s sheepish wave, she must have been waiting for awhile and already told him about their payment arrangement. Leave it to Toni to show up early to a meeting she didn’t want to attend. She saluted to them, keeping herself spread out on her side of the booth. Well, there went their opposite sides of the table plan. Already things were falling apart.

Sliding into the booth beside Betty, the tension in the air was practically palpable. Betty opened her mouth to speak but Toni cut her off. “I’m not here for pleasantries, Princess. I’m here for the favor Jughead’s calling in. So spill  —  what is it?”

“We need you to sign up for the Princess Maple Pageant and act our as eyes and ears to get information from a few of the contestants.” Better to be open and honest with it, Jughead figured. The worst she could do was laugh.

Which she did. Loudly. For a few minutes, before wiping her eyes. “Excuse me? Do I look like Miss Congeniality to you? No, Jones. Not for a million IOUs.”

“Toni hear me out. Please. We need the information and there’s something in it for you.”

“What on earth do you think could make this worth my time?”

Betty spoke up, smiling sweetly. “My dear cousin, Cheryl Blossom. She competes every year and I heard that you might be interested in getting a little closer to her. Which is perfect, since she’s the one we need some intel from.”

Toni’s ears perked up and she sat a little straighter. “Oh? I’m listening. Talk to me.”

As quietly as possible, Betty and Jughead explained their intricate plan to Toni, even the parts they hadn’t completely ironed out yet. Not everything fell perfectly into place, but it was something and that was enough for now. She nodded along. Jughead could tell she was paying close attention even if she liked to pretend she wasn’t. She was just as curious about mysteries as he was. It was a group of true crime addicts in search of a mystery  — the perfect bait to reel her in.

“You know what, fine. But who’s going to teach me how to run in the pageant world? I’m not sure if you know this, but my talent will probably be throwing knives.”

Betty’s eyes lit up. “That’s perfect! I’ll help you out and I’ll be backstage if you need any help. Though I wouldn’t talk to me much to avoid suspicion from Cheryl.”

“Pft. That won’t be too hard,” Toni’s eyes turned to Jug. “I mean it. You owe me.”

“I know I do T. But you’re like family to me so you’re the only person I trust. Dad isn’t…”

“He’s been bought,” she shrugged taking a bite of her fries. “We all know it. All the Serpents. We don’t know by who or why, but he spent a long time in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm, bringing down food and water every few hours. I don’t ask questions. Not my place. But I thought that might be information you’d like to have.”

Of course it was. It was just further proof of the theory they’d figured out. FP Jones had kidnapped Polly at the behest of her parents. All that was left to figure out was the largest piece of the puzzle:  _ why? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Chapter 12: Miss Maple Princess


	12. Miss Maple Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Miss Maple Princess underway, Jughead and Betty take a moment alone. Toni wiggles some information out of Cheryl that could alter the very fabric of Riverdale Reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has smut, for which we are going to blame @betty-cooper on tumblr, because Katie messages me saying "you should have Betty and Jughead fuck backstage during the pageant" and well...here we are I guess. Special thanks to her anyway, who I might as well gift this fic to, because without her persistent love of it, I likely would have abandoned it <3
> 
> Only two chapters left! Can't believe this crazy ride is almost to an end. Thank you all for following me to this point <3

Toni and I met on the banks of Crystal Lake right when the water was just starting to get warm enough that leaving the safety of his trailer was worth it. Even if that meant facing the beating heat and the potential of running into a Serpent that had it in their head to try and talk me into their gang initiation at twelve years old again. My friends were still few and far between. As far as I knew, I could count them on one finger; Archie Andrews, and he was away at a musical summer camp in Chicago, where his mom liked to work during summers at an old family practice. Without my single confidant by my side, most days were lonely. My father was drunk. My sister and mother were gone  — except for the occasional five minute phone call where they would update me on the easiness of their life since leaving Riverdale. And then there was me, always left behind.

I got down to the lake around noon. Crystal Lake was known all across Southside for its irony  —  he water was far from crystal; you could often see unclipped six pack rings floating across the azy water, clinging to the shoreline. No one was around in my usual stomping ground, where an old forgotten tire swing hung from one of the few trees that hadn’t been knocked down by bad winds and shoddy land development. I spent most of the day swinging there. Occasionally, when the sun got too hot and threatened to burn my skin, I would toss myself into the lake. This was almost always followed by an intense round of regret as my nostrils were filled with the less than pleasant murky water and I would come to shore coughing up bits of whatever lingered at the bottom there. Probably cars. Or bodies. Maybe a combination of both.

As I was laying on the sand, arms outstretched as the heat dried my clothes, I heard the heavy footsteps of someone running closer and closer to me, until they hit the unstable ground and turned into trudges. A girl my age with short pigtails plopped down next to me. It’s hard to remember exactly what happened after that  — if her nearly drowning me came before or after her talking all about her abusive Uncle who’d just kicked her out of the house for the fifth time that month  — but I had successfully landed myself my second friend.

Even if she acted somewhat put out by my presence, Toni was not someone who took friendship lightly. If someone she had attached to herself was hurt, or in need of assistance, she would be the first by their side, fighting whatever battles needed to be fought without question. When she first started dying her hair pink, it was me she asked to help her. It was her way of confirming to me that our friendship was solid. How she ever forgave me for the peroxide accident that ruined the trailer carpet I will never really understand.

When she joined the Serpents, it had briefly felt like my world was slowly crumbling around me. She was the one of the few people I had never felt betrayed by. Her initiation  — and by proxy, her rib tattoo  — had felt like a knife right through the center of my chest. I had lost Betty to society. Archie was pulling back for many of the same reasons. And Toni, my only solace on the Southside, had opted to join the gang that had taken my own father away from me. Despite the protections that came with being the “Serpent Prince”  — even if I didn’t want them  — our relationship had never felt completely the same after that. It was a strain on our tenuous murder mystery loving friendship. Who would have thought throwing a gang into the mix would make things complicated?

Even with the complications, I knew Toni would always be there for me though. Maybe that’s why she was first on the list of people to call when things went south and I needed some assistance. Never in a million years could I ever have imagined that assistance would be in the form of a ballgown and multiple late night Sandra Bullock in  _ Miss Congeniality _ transformations. Toni prided herself on being feminine, but not doing so to conform to societal standards. She liked pink so wore it. She liked leather so she wore it. She liked flannel and tights so she wore them (and the scars that came from fights). But to shove her into one of Betty’s old pageant gowns was a sight to behold.

There were no words for the vitrole like hatred I felt from her eyes with each practiced dainty step of movement. She hated me in that moment, as the heels twisted her ankles and sent her stumbling over. Each time she tired to lash out, I would do my best to remind her of the prize that waited for her at the end of the tunnel: a stunning redhead in an equally stunning gown who was absolutely as interested in women as Toni was. One day, I will have to thank Cheryl Blossom for saving my life, because she was the only thing that stood between me and my spit-fire friend’s mutually assured destruction.

When I wasn’t busy fearing for my life  — it would not have surprised me if, at any moment, the world went black and the last thing that flashed before my eyes was Toni prying the heel she had just bludgeoned me to death with from my skull  — I could watch Betty. Even when dealing with the most difficult of students, she was a patient saint and a beautiful angel. Across grass, she glided like a deity across water. If my laughter didn’t get me killed, my unabashed drooling over Professor Cooper might have. Not that Betty seemed to mind the attention. If our eyes ever caught, she would giggle and wink, showing off with a twirl before placing the books back on Toni's head. 

To name all the strings we had to pull to get Miss Antoinette Topaz signed up for a pageant taking place in such short notice would take an entire novel’s length of redacted information. None of them would know what an integral part they played in uncovering the dastardly plot behind the largest mystery in Riverdale’s entire history. Looking back, it all seemed so cliche, that the day of the pageant would be the day of reckoning for everyone. The day we all watched as what was and had always been crumbled into dust and shook everything to the very core.

With every plot line followed, more and more of Riverdale’s sparkling exterior was stripped away, revealing a rotting underbelly of crime, lies, and sin, drenched in nothing but the sticky sweetness of maple syrup. It ran through the roots of this town, so it was no surprise to find it was tangled up in all it’s messes.

They say that maple trees are the great heart of our home, a beautiful foresting symbol of our success, our life, or community. But it was a weed. A poisoning weed, leaching from the soil until nothing was left untainted. What springs from a poisonous maple tree? Are it’s fruits and it’s nectar as deadly as the roots? Or could a new tree be planted in the place of the sick one, when it was cut down to a stump, left as a memorial  — a reminder, a warning  — to all those who dared stumbled down the same path as it.

It was only fitting that it was at the Miss Maple Pageant, the place where it had really begun, would be where we began our final act, reaching forward and wrapping our fingers around the last few pieces of a bittersweet puzzle.

\-----------

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\----

\--

-

“No way in hell. No fucking way can you get me to walk in these stupid heels wearing that way too big dress covered in crystals that cost more than the entire trailer I live in.”

Jughead groaned from his perch atop Betty’s mini cooper, running a hand through his hair in frustration. They had been at this for hours. Tomorrow was the day of the pageant and in their final stretch, Toni had become horribly uncooperative. At first, simply getting her to walk in mile high heels had been a challenge. Once that bridge was successfully built and crossed, a seemingly endless list of complaints had surfaced. The biggest one being the dress.

“Every pageant girl has to wear a dress like this,” Betty insisted. “I wore it when I was fifteen so I promise it’s not that hard to walk in with a little practice. But we need to do that practice now.”

The sun was already setting and Jughead could feel his girlfriend’s anxiety skyrocketing. Even with their approval of her spending most of her nights at Thistle House  — where unbeknownst to them a vagabond had taken residence  — there was the increased pressure from her parents to do perfectly, and with it came stricter rules. She was to be home before ten each night. Her diet had been limited, aside from the few burger runs Jughead had made to keep her from going insane. The added on rules made it even harder for their underground pageantry lessons to take place.

Despite her agreeing to all this, Toni was not the easiest person to teach. When something wasn’t done right the first time, she grew frustrated with herself and lashed out like a toddler, sitting on the ground and explaining just how stupid the entire affair was. After finally getting her back into it, something would come up and the cycle would repeat. 

One more back and forth and one of his oldest friends was shimmying her way into the old ball gown with a grunt and a few bitter words. Despite wanting to keep all of his teeth, and his survival instincts screaming at him, Jughead pressed his lips together and whistled. “Looking good, Topaz.”

Had she been a little more graceful, the shoe would have ended up in his eye socket instead of somewhere in the treeline. “Watch your mouth before my aim gets better, Jones.”

Betty, having dealt with their childish antics for most of the afternoon, sighed loudly and stepped between them. “Juggie, please stop riling her up. We need to get practice finished for the day so we can all get a good night's sleep before tomorrow. It’s D-day.”

“Yeah,  _ Juggie _ , stop sucking.”

The rest of the night went as well as anyone would have expected. Toni had a few missteps that sent her fumbling into the grass  — much to Betty’s chagrin as she reminded them just how expensive her pageant dresses were. As the sun set below the horizon, practice drew to a close. Everything was as good as it was going to get. Not that it kept Jughead from noticing the tension in the reigning Princess’ shoulders and the way her eyes wandered far into the distance, lost in whatever complex world helped satiate her fears.

Toni promised them twice that she would be there and even on time, wearing the dress with the shoes and her hair done exactly the way she had been told to. Pageant makeup was some sort of unfathomable artform. Even a demigod of artistry couldn’t tackle the gorgan, so Betty agreed to help her out in the morning before the competition truly started.

“At least there’s no swimsuit section.”

“There used to be.” Betty frowned. “It got very cold. I’m glad they changed it to winter wear. Much more practical for December in New York. Most of us had to wear mufflers backstage.”

“I’m surprised your tits didn’t freeze. Maybe that’s why they’re so perky.”

“No, that’s just good genetics.”

Toni smacked Jughead’s shoulder hard enough to send him tumbling forward. “Good catch, Jones. See you two tomorrow. And remember, if you take any picture, I snap a different bone for every pixel.”

“Graphic, but not out of the realm of possibilities. Duly noted. And thank you, seriously, for helping us out with all of this. I owe you big.”

“You owe me a million, Jones, but what else are friends for?” She spent a few minutes trying to figure out how best to wrap the dress around herself so her bike was at least semi functional. Finally, she waved, and disappeared in a cloud of kicked up dust.

Jughead looked down to Betty, who stood beside him shaking. The temperatures were not pleasant now, but normally she could withstand the worst of weathers, laughing in the face of any danger. Mother Natures one true match was Betty Cooper. Except today, where she seemed meak and nervous, checking the clock every few minutes in either a desperate attempt to get it to go faster or slower.

The car ride back to Thistle House was completed in relative silence. Nothing but the gentle hum of her engine filled the dead air. As they gathered up the practice equipment, Jughead turned to her, fixing her with a gaze he hoped to be boyfriend-ly enough that she offered him up some honesty.

“You’re scared.”

“Of course I’m scared. I’m scared about a lot of things.”

Betty turned away from him, shuffling inside past the snow and setting her things out on the rickety dining room table. He followed her with a sigh. Of course getting her to talk would be like pulling teeth  — just another reason they were perfect for each other.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re scared about?”

“Maybe.”

“Cryptic, but I’ll give you a minute.”

Once they were showered, dressed for bed, and Jughead finished his obligatory midnight snack  — being able to eat whenever he wanted without the fear of starvation was a new concept and one he was cherishing  — they curled up into bed together. He pulled her close and planted a reassuring kiss to her lips. There was no point in pushing. Whenever she felt ready, she would open up to him.

The clock on the dresser ticked past eleven. Finally, Betty took a deep breath and spoke. “I’m scared about what’s going to happen tomorrow. I’m scared about the pageant, because if I don’t win I don’t know what my parents will do. But I’m also really scared about what we’ll find out. What there  _ is _ to find out. What if it’s something I don’t want to hear?”

“The truth is often times hard to swallow. Whatever it is, even if it’s terrifying at first, you’ll be happier knowing. I know that because I know you. Your curiosity would fester until it ate you alive. Or at the very least turned you into a rotting mass of anxiety. And you’re way too pretty for that.”

She laughed into his kiss, the tension in her shoulders starting to relax, inch by inch. “I know that you’re right. I have to keep reminding myself of that. No matter what happens, in the end, I’ll be glad to know the truth. Even if the truth doesn’t seem like something I want to hear.”

“There’s the Betty I know and love.”

Love. That was a strange concept. Did he love Betty? Without a second thought he decided that yes, he did, and he would until the day he died. Maybe he had loved her since he was young, saving up money for roses to hide in her locker and using crayons as currency for her affections. Or maybe the development was new, using their youth as kindlings to an ever growing flame. Either way, it warmed his chest, snipping at the seams of his soul until it was something he could not contain.

“I love you, Betty Cooper.”

Her eyes went soft and her lips curved into a gentle grin. “Jughead Jones, I love you.”

They didn’t make love that night, as would have been apropos, or even fuck like wild needy beasts. Instead, they kissed until his lips went numb and Betty wandered off into a fitful sleep. There was going to be a bruise on his forehead for the next week. She’d gotten startled by something in her dreams and smacked him so hard he’d yelped out in agony. Love was going to be just as messy as he had expected.

The next morning was the start of a precarious game they had practiced hard at. He was hidden in the closet at 6:45 AM, before her parents barged in and started her preparations. They dragged her back to Thornhill and Jughead was left in peace. Although, his ears were still buzzing in second hand fear from all the early morning scoldings his girlfriend had received. Jughead allowed himself a few more hours sleep, before hurriedly throwing on his clothes and making his way to the pageant.

**_Toni:_ **

_ Tell Betty I’ve got Ms. Blossom under control. She’s already yapping at me. Apparently it doesn’t take much more than a few ego pets to get her talking. _

_ A real girl who knows who she is. _

_ It’s kind of hot. _

**_Jughead:_ **

_ Keep it in your pants T. At least until the pageants over. Then, if you want to risk your vaginal health that bad, feel free to go after the she-witch. Have you caught anything worthwhile yet? _

**_Toni:_ **

_ Just a few things about her dad. He seems like a pretty terrible guy. I’ll keep you updated though. _

Using a little skill  — and Toni’s clever distractions  — he made his way backstage to see Betty one last time before their final plans were set in motion. In the pit of his stomach, he felt a sense of finality, something bitter curled up with the fear that had settled there. Even the ridiculous volume of Toni’s hair had not calmed his worries.

Just like they had planned, his friend stayed far away from them, hovering around Cheryl Blossom as Jughead snuck through the backstage area, trying to figure out the best way to get Betty to join him. He pulled out his phone and sent her a quick text, hoping she wasn’t too enthralled with unpinning the last of her ringlets to notice the message. Mercifully, she looked after the second buzz. She frowned and looked around the room before catching sight of him. Betty whispered something goodnaturedly to the other girl she shared a vanity with, and left in his direction.

Once they were out of view, Jughead pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Sorry. I didn’t get to give you one this morning for good luck.”

“You dork. Is that really all you called me here for? You said it was important.”

“Kissing my girlfriend is important.” He protested. “But, what I really wanted to say was that Cheryl’s already getting loose lipped around Toni. I don’t know if it’s because she’s lonely or just a chatterbox, but it’s working in our favor. I think we’ll be able to get something by the end of it.”

Betty relaxed with a sigh, smiling up at him. “Perfect. Thank you, Juggie. But I have to go now if that’s all. The pageant starts in an hour and I need to make sure everything is picture perfect so I go home with another crown.”

“Are these things really that important to you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s tradition at this point. And this year, winning that crown is the only thing that will feel normal, when the rest of the world is plunged into chaos. And maybe, part of me hopes that Polly will see it, and she’ll come to, because it’s something that always happens, every year like clockwork. I know it’s silly. It’s just a metal crown and some money that I’ve never needed. But it makes me feel important. It’s a rush to have all eyes on me for something positive, instead of whispering about how that’s the girl who’s sister is the crazy town mute.”

“At least she’s got a fun title.” When she didn’t laugh, Jughead pulled her into a tight hug, placing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m teasing, Betts. I get what you mean. You’re used to all the positive attention and this is something that doesn’t have to do with a kidnapping scheme. So you go out there, forget about our plan for a few minutes, and kick ass. I’ll be cheering you on the entire time.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“You figured out how to open your eyes?”

They kissed again, hidden from all prying eyes, backstage where the world ceased to exist and all that they felt was each other. He pulled her closer and they stumbled back in unison. Without a second thought, Jughead lifted her into the air, pressing her back against the cobbled wall. Neither of them dared to pull back from the other as they shared their last few moments of relative normalcy together.

Betty pulled at his pants, effortlessly undoing the zipper as she shimmied her skirt up. If he had caught her in her pageant gown, there was no way they’d be making time for a quickie backstage. He thanked God and the universe for little miracles. They moved in frenzied passion. Jughead was in her and they were rocking together as she nursed her lip between her teeth, praying that it would be enough to keep the sound of her moans at bay. Each thrust caused her to whimper. A strangled gasp escaped her lips and she breathed out his name, hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back when he sucked too hard and nearly left a mark on her skin.

“If you come anywhere but in me, I’ll strangle you.” She threatened. Not that Jughead was in any place to not comply with her orders, lost in the intensity of her tight warmth and the way she shivered for him.

It didn’t take long for the finish to come, leaving them both panting, lost in each other’s eyes until they heard whispers from other contestants moving much too close for it to be safe. He pulled out and offered her one last kiss before sneaking out the back. As he left, Jughead heard her mutter a little curse about having to get cleaned up. An animalistic pride in his chest purred in delight.

The Miss Maple Princess Pageant was not a completely foreign sight to him. For years he had watched it play out, mostly from the side lines as he ate over priced fair food and daydreamed about what it would be like to kiss Betty Cooper. It was strange to think his wildest middle school fantasies were now a reality.

The event had three parts: gown, winter wear, and talent. After that was the crowning  — though most felt that was a formality, when the favorite to win was the same person who had it under her belt since she could speak. When Betty was announced, Jughead felt his heart skip a beat. She was dressed in a regal blue. It hugged her curves and flared out into an elegant ball gown, which she picked up and spun for fanfare. The people hollered and clapped but she stayed as poised and elegant as ever. His eyes were transfixed on her every moment, like a snake charmed by a temptress. All too soon she was gone, replaced by someone who’s name he didn’t care to remember.

Antoinette Topaz’s name was called and she walked out with a grimace and an attitude. Jughead couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped him. He felt her glare and set a reminder in his phone to inform Betty that he needed to draft up a will, and ask her politely to write a nice eulegy for him. Toni looked about as uncomfortable as he felt after one too many cheeseburger/milkshake combinations.

The rest of the night went much the same as the first round did. Jughead ogled the way Betty moved across the stage, and laughed at Toni’s awkwardness, not daring to snap photos, but wishing beyond hope that he could have. Occasionally, he would lock eyes with a Blossom or a Cooper, both of which would glare at him for a few seconds before turning back, apparently having deemed his presence not worth the trouble. Halfway through the winter act, he saw Clifford stand, mumbling something to his wife  — she looked a little scared, but then again, Penelope always did  — before exiting.

There was an intermission between the pageant and crowning, where Jughead allowed himself a few minutes to study the crowd. None of the contestants were allowed to rejoin the populus. It had something to do with “potentially influencing” the votes from the judges, though how that could happen when they were being ranked he surely didn’t know. Perhaps there was some complexities happening behind the scenes he would never be privy to. Maybe they sacrificed a goat and the great God Cthulhu told them who should be crowned. That certainly would make it more exciting.

He watched Cheryl’s signature Blossom hair pop out from the curtain, before quickly disappearing back in for unknown reasons. Perhaps she had gotten restless. All of his everything was too asleep to allow him much movement outside of the tinfoil chair he’d been occupying for the past six hours.

Finally, the MC announced for the contestants to step forward. Jughead studied the nervous group of fresh faced youths, settling on Betty’s for possibly much longer than necessary. But then it occured to him: there was no Toni near the end of the line, nor a perturbed Cheryl Blossom, glaring at all directions just in case her ire didn’t reach the large audience she hoped it would. He searched the stage again to make sure he hadn’t missed them.

“We would like to crown our 23rd Annual Miss Maple Princess winner. If you could all take your seats.”

From the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of the dress Betty hand lent Toni, followed closely by the cherry red hair he’d seen peeking from backstage not long ago. They seemed in a panic. He felt his heart burst as he rushed out of his chair towards them. Judging by the look on his friend’s face, the hallowness of her eyes, the paleness of her usually rich cheeks, this news was not going to be wholesome.

“We believe our Miss Maple Princess exemplifies all the things our town stands for. Honesty. Integrity. Commitment. Pride. And a little something sweet.”

“Jughead!” Toni pulled Cheryl forward. “I need to tell you something. Or, I guess, Cheryl needs to tell you something.”

“Daddy’s going to do a bad thing soon. And I think it has to do with the Coopers.”

The MC’s voice boomed over the speakers, cutting through the still air like a hot knife. “And the winner is: Betty Cooper! Congratulations to our reigning Miss Maple Princess!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b. I'm currently still having a poll to see which fic I'll write after this one and Kiss Me have completed!
> 
> Next: Chapter 13: Penultimate


	13. Penultimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then a single gunshot rung out and reverberated throughout the hallowed halls of Thornhill Manor. Deafening. Deadily. Final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Alright. This is a long time coming but here it is, the penultimate chapter of SSS. I want to thank all of you who've stuck around with me through everything and are kind enough to leave comments or messages or anything encouraging me to write this fic. There's one more chapter after this. And it's already written and everything. I can post it next week if you guys want or I can post it the week after. I might not be able to hold onto it for too much longer because I'm equal parts saddened and proud to see this fic ending as I've poured a lot of time and love into it. I appreciate every single one of you..
> 
> I also appreciate @bettscoopr who took time from beta-ing my laundry list of other things she betas and was willing to beta this. She has essentially sold her beta-ing soul to me. She's a hero so go send her some love.
> 
> In true Tori fashion my notes on the last chapter are probably going to be sentimental garbage so prepare yourselves for that. Without further ado, here is chapter 13!

Saints and sinners: a familiar concept if you’ve ever stepped foot in a church. In a small town like Riverdale, there was no way to avoid the biblical allegories. Hal Cooper’s ancestor had murdered Clifford Blossom’s in a twisted reinterpretation of the tale of Cain and Abel. Brother murders brother for the gain. At the heart of it was greed, a hunger so insatiable it could not be stifled, not even by the spilling of blood.

As much as the town would try to deny it, there was a darkness lurking under the shadows for each of us. I had always been a glutton. Food was a comfort for me, a luxury in some ways when growing up, because back in high school, I had no idea where my next meal might be coming from--whether it be Pop’s generous “leftovers” or a back alley dumpster behind a grocery store. I’m loathe to admit it, but on more than one occasion I would pick away at the rotting part of a piece of produce just to get something in my stomach to hold me over until my government mandated school lunch. In many ways, the only reason I started working was to secure myself food. A Pop’s milkshake was more than just a comfort. Slowly, it became a necessity to keep me from feeling those gnawing hunger pains that reminded me so much of a detestable childhood.

Looking into the eyes of Veronica Lodge, or simply her closet, one could call forth the picture of a prideful creature splayed out on an ornate couch. Though the Lodges would never openly admit it, the reason for the purchase of the Register was to keep up propriety. The Lodge patriarch had gone under heavy fire in his earlier business years for insider trading and other less-than-legal activities. My determined mother and bitter father would have latched quickly onto that news the second he moved back into town and littered the streets with his wrongdoings as retribution for whatever cruelties he’d done to them in their younger years.

Even a gentle and beloved family like the Andrews was not above the pitfalls of the human condition. A boy like Archie, who can never make up his mind even in the simplest things, like whether to use butter or jelly on his morning toast, strays along a greedy path. There are no choices if he can have both. Whether it be the fear of making the wrong choice or the desire for excess that fuels his decision making is unclear, but all the same it paints a picture of sin.

In the likes of Cheryl Blossom, I see wrath. From the top of her red hair to the bottom of her Louis Vuittons, she was drenched in fire. Boiling under the surface of every encounter was anger. Frustration. Rage. It wasn’t just the coincidental personality of a catty young woman, but a purposeful, desperate attempt to gain power in a world that had ripped it from her. Under the overbearing dictatorship of the Blossoms, everything and everyone who stood between her and her end goals became the enemy. And what became of the enemy? Total destruction. They would be burnt to the ground like Napoleonic troops facing Russian warfare.

But maybe our ineptitudes are less of a personal problem and more so come from the seeds we grow from. Our faults are bestowed upon us from those that came before, tracing all the way back to the original sinners and the cursed pomegranate (or apple, if you prefer a more modern interpretation) with which the devil tempted Eve until she succumbed to her most base desires. We put ourselves first because we must to survive.

My gluttony was a byproduct of my father. Where I turned to a hot cheese burger and a well-spiced pie for a quick fix, he found solace at the bottom of a bottle. It comes down to excess. How much is too much? How much is not enough? But to an addict, a glutton, those lines are too blurred for them to see clearly. It was always, would always be, more, more, more until he drowned in excess.

The Blossoms were another story, previous chapters leading up to the pages of Cheryl’s life. While Penelope kept herself prim and proper in the public eye, behind closed doors she was a villainous terror. When hopefulness and self love grew, she would prune the leaves and chop the vines until the flower bush was wilted. Clifford was a more typically angry sort. He would scream and throw and kick through the walls and blame his children for their misbehavior. They were frightened into submission. It was that blind rage, that wrath, the fueled him to commit the crimes he did the fateful night of the Miss Maple Princess Beauty Pageant, for had he been a more temperament man, perhaps the world would not have crumbled when he discovered his wife’s late night adultery.

What then, of Betty Cooper? Hal was, in many ways, the poster child for sin, even when he masqueraded as the perfect, loving family man. From his family line the murderous branches grew, rooting under the town and tangling it together. He lusted for the things he could not have in the dead of night. He was greedy even when he got them. More. More. More. It always comes down to more, doesn’t it? For the gluttons, the leches, the sinners all alike, it boils down to one simple word: more.

Though perhaps it is a bold claim to make, but I would like to present Betty Cooper as the antithesis: the saint in a world of sinners. No human is without fault, and she had plenty of her own. She was tempted by acceptance, adoration, falling into the pitfalls of humanity as easily as the rest of us. But for all she failed, she also excelled. A saint may learn from their mistakes and work hard to never repeat them. Even when they stumble, even when they fall, they try to regain their footing. For many people who feel trapped, doomed to repeat the patterns of the past, the fear of habits lands us along the very paths we struggle to avoid. Fair Betty Cooper was kind. She was temperate and humble. She was just and ultimately good despite a wicked root in her family line.

Or maybe I’m blind. They say you look so fondly on your first love that you forget to find the flaws in their persona, as they’re hollowed out in perfect marble in your mind. She is my first. My last. My only. And for that, I see her more clearly for who she is. Now longer just a little girl who offered to share her crayons with me on the playground, but a woman pulling me out of my deepest hells and asking me to love her despite all the wrong she had done.

We all fall into temptation, perfect Eve taught us that much. Even with God’s guiding hands, it is impossible to resist what we so desperately crave. Most days, the consequences are minor at most. No one mocks the woman who runs a little late after masturbating in the morning. Making money is a sign of capitalistic virtue, even at the expense of another person’s soul. Sleeping in a few more minutes makes you miss the train to work and at worst, you suffer through the cramped bus ride standing instead of sitting and go on with you life.

In Riverdale, the stakes are much higher than that. The price you pay for sin is paid in blood. It runs into the roots of the maple trees. When they’re tapped for the season, out pours the sticky sweetness of soiled hearts and rotted minds. It is poison. But we drink it and the cycle repeats. Brother kills brother. Families fall apart. And what do we receive for our generous and costly sacrifices?

Maple syrup.

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Years from now, when Jughead would look back on that fateful December evening, there would be a handful of things that stand out most. The screech of tires as the tread skid along the old highway. The crack of thunder as the rain beat down on the aluminum hood of Betty’s Mini Cooper. The quietness of Cheryl’s voice as she spun her tale on what would come be to be known as the most troubling night in Riverdale history.

“I didn’t know. It all seemed so normal at first, just my dad being his usual creepy self. Stalking around the house, mumbling to himself. The usual.”

Jughead blanched. “I’m sorry, how is that usual?”

Cheryl glared and pulled Toni’s worn leather jacket tighter around herself. “Watch yourself, hobo. Last I checked, DILF Jones just got off another drug charge from sheer dumb luck, so don’t waste time acting like your family is occupying the moral high ground.. Not when I have important things to say.”

As if the very air itself could feel their turmoil, thunder cracked again and the wheels threatened to turn out from underneath him. Ever forward they raced toward their destination: Thornhill. Cheryl had instructed them as quickly as she could with a promise that on the drive there they would get a full explanation. It was not unlike a Blossom to spin together something with grandeur, but as time ticked on and they drove towards an unknown danger, Jughead could feel his patience being tested. The situation was not helped by the girl beside him.

Kept like a polaroid picture in the back recesses of his mind, he would remember the way Betty looked that night — small, frightened, and much too young for the pain in her heart. He would remember the way she clutched the bouquet of flowers so tightly her knuckles turned white. He would remember how the tears fell silently, later mixing with rain. He would remember the way the crown sat just so on her head until it clattered to the ground and shattered as she screamed out in agony on the front steps of Thornhill. Later, cramped in Sheriff Keller’s office, he would be able to recount the night with startling accuracy, each moment so vivid as though illuminated by a single flash of lightning.

“But he wasn’t the only one sneaking around,” Cheryl sighed. “I’m sorry Betty, but I saw your dad around my house a lot, before Polly went missing and after. At first, I thought it was just the same old smoke and mirrors for the press coverage, making sure everyone knew things were peachy keen in the Blossom/Cooper empire so you could keep shelling maple syrup out like it was cocaine and have it fill the town folks pockets and make Daddy happy. And then I realized he wasn’t coming around for Daddy.

“Hal was always around when Mother was home. She would always invite him in and then one night I saw them… I snuck downstairs to get a glass of water and I saw them by the fire. It was disgusting, so I ran upstairs to try and bleach the image from my mind. I’ve never seen old people fucking before. Revolting.”

“You’re wrong.” Betty finally spoke, her hands shaking, a few of the petals falling to the door beside the bottom of her muddy dress. “You have to be wrong. Dad would never, he could never cheat on Mom. Especially with Penelope! Especially with a Blossom!”

“Oh, but haven’t you heard? Coopers are Blossoms, Elizabeth. Jason told me so himself. And then when I told him that meant we were cousins with his dear Polly, he wouldn’t have it, he didn’t care. He sat down and told me the story all about great grandpa Cooper and Blossom and how your family murdered mine all because they didn’t like sharing.”

“Shut  _ up _ , Cheryl!”

Betty didn’t want to hear another word, but Cheryl continued on, pressing and prodding all the right buttons to send Betty into overdrive. “But you knew that didn’t you? You little Nancy Drew wannabe. I heard all about you breaking in the Lodge’s newspaper with your friends. There isn’t a thing in this town I don’t know about. We’re one in the same. The same rotted apples from the same poisoned trees! Our roots are cursed and Jason was just going to ignore it and run away with little Pauline Cooper to some nowhere farm and raise babies together.”

“Stop it!”

Jughead slammed on the breaks, spinning around to face Cheryl. “If you don’t think I will kick you out of this car in the pouring rain, you are severely overestimating my kindness for someone who not only spent years tormenting me, but is now relishing in the worst night of my girlfriend’s life.”

“I knew it! I knew there was something happening between you two, always whispering and sharing secrets in the locked office of the Blue and Gold! What would the world are you thinking, Betty Cooper? Your sister was lucky enough to date a Blossom, and then you date a juvenile detention center reject?”

“Shut the fuck up, Cheryl. You’re mean and you’re cruel and I was like that too for such a long time because I thought I had to be. But I don’t,  _ you _ don’t. We don’t have to be terrible like our parents. We don’t have to be monsters like them and our ancestors. We can work and rise above it and cut the roots from our feet. That’s what Polly and Jason were trying to do. They were trying to leave their legacies behind and start over far away from a place that expects us to be exactly how we were made to be, a place that expects us to compete over stupid plastic crowns and titles that don’t mean anything! You want the sash ,Cheryl?” She ripped the satin from her body and tossed it into the backseat. “I don’t. Not anymore. I don’t want any of this.”

The car was silent save for the heavy beating of rain against the windshield and the screech of the wipers. In the silence, the air began to taste lighter and he watched as the Queen of Chaos herself crumpled up the sash and threw it out into the road. A minivan drove by and tossed it into the night air.

“I don’t want it either.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It looks absolutely tacky with my dress.”

Jughead started the engine again and off they went. As Thornhill grew ever closer, the pieces of the puzzle finally began to shift into place, painting a frightening and gruesome picture of events.

“Cheryl, did Jason and Polly know about the affair?”

After a moment of thought, she nodded. “Yes. I told Jason and that means she probably heard of it, too.”

The two lovebirds in the front seat shared a glance of understanding. “I bet that’s why Polly was sent away.”

“Sent away? I thought she was kidnapped and had become mute from the trauma?” Toni frowned, confusion flickering across her features.

Betty shook her head. “No. I think… I think my dad found out that Polly knew. Maybe she confronted him when he told her to stop seeing Jason. That sounds like something she’d do in a rebellious fit, yell at him and air his dirty laundry. Apparently he doesn’t take well to threats and he concocted some lie to tell mom to convince her to send Polly away for awhile. Maybe it had something to do with your family still, Cheryl, which was why Mom’s acted so angry towards the Blossoms. I can’t believe she knew about all of this. She’s way too proud to stay with someone who’s sleeping with another woman. Not the same woman who once threw a brick threw a window of some innocent dry cleaner’s in New York because she didn’t know why my dad’s suits smelt like lavender perfume. She only wears marigold.”

“My God,” Toni groaned. “Does being rich inherently mean you have a fucked up family life?”

“I’m not sure we’re two to talk. Have you seen our track record?”

“Fair enough, Jones.”

Unable to contain himself, Jughead reached over and set a comforting hand on Betty’s thigh. He rubbed slow circles on the fabric of her dress until he watched some of the worry slump from her shoulders. The giant rot iron gates of Thornhill loomed in the distance. As they pulled into the driveway, Cheryl jumped forward and tightly gripped his shoulder.

“Wait! We have to stop here. We have to go the rest of the way on foot.”

“And why is that? It’s raining, and it’ll take us forever to get up there without the car.” 

Jughead could see Betty’s patience boiling over as it mingled with the encroaching dread that filled the very air in the cramped vehicle. Her hands were shaking again now and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and take them in his to help ease the worry. But now was not the moment for sweet — albeit ill timed — gestures of adoration. Not when, for once in the entirety he had known her, Cheryl Blossom was refusing to speak.

“Come on! We don’t have time for this! If you’re not going to explain why then we aren’t doing it your way. We need to go in there and put a stop to whatever it is that’s going on before it gets worse.” Her voice was quivering as badly as her hands.

“Don’t be an idiot! That’s what I’m trying to protect us from. My dad… when I say I think he’s about to do a bad thing, I’m not just talking about ripping apart a family with an affair accusation! I’m saying that… that I think he’s going to do something worse. I saw him whispering to Mother before the show started and then he wasn’t in the crowd. I think maybe he left to come wait here to speak with your dad about something, but Betty, you have to know, when he feels like someone wronged him, he doesn’t let them get away. He holds tighter and tighter until the poor creature is drowning in its own blood and screaming out. He’s merciless.

“The Blossoms are hunters, Betty. Not just in how we deal with our enemies in the stock rooms and behind the closed doors of politics. What I mean is… Daddy used to take us out hunting, me and JJ, and he taught us to shoot. I always preferred a bow and arrow, but Jason was as good as Daddy was with a gun. And we have plenty of them.”

Jughead watched as all the life drained from Betty’s eyes. He turned to the back. “Cheryl you don’t think…?”

“I heard Mother and Daddy arguing about something when I tried to sneak out and go say hi to JJ in the audience. I didn’t know what else to do. I saw a look in his eyes I only ever saw when I when we were out in Fox Forest. If we go rushing in there like animals, that’s exactly what he’ll treat us as.”

But it was too late. Too late for a lot of things. It was too late for Jughead to throw the car in park and stop Betty from ripping the bottom of her dress and tossing her shoes out into the mud. He couldn’t catch up to her as the weight of his wet jeans slowed him down, even as he shouted for her.

“Please! Betty, stop! We don’t know what’s happening in there and Cheryl said it could be dangerous!”

“I don’t care, Jughead! What if Clifford does something to my dad? What if he hurts him? I can’t let that happen. I’ll never have all the answers to this stupid, confusing riddle without him here to explain himself. To explain everything. There has to be so much more to this than a stupid affair and a maple syrup empire. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense until we get in there and ask him and Clifford ourselves!”

Cheryl screamed in frustration, bustling her dress up with enough ease to cause both Toni and Jughead a shock.

“You’re so blind, aren’t you? Such a goody-goody girl trapped in your world of perfect realities and perfect fairytales. You really think maple syrup is the only thing that’s making you money? Please, no one in this entire town eats enough pancakes to do that. It’s drugs, Betty. Your family is supplying them, and mine is helping run them, cleaningly with the help of the Serpents. If the mayor, the richest family in town, and the only competent gang works together, they’re a monopoly.”

And suddenly, it all made sense. For years it seemed like the strength of the Cooper’s hold on Riverdale came from the maple industry. Bottling, extracting, growing, selling. It was lucrative, sure, but not in a way to fund the lifestyle of the rich and famous like the Coopers were used to living, not when cheap competitors were multiplying at an alarming rate and the call for real, straight from the tree sugar sap was dying. It made sense to turn to another less regulated industry, to say the least.

It made Jughead sick to his stomach to know the hand his father had played in what might turn out to be the biggest scheme in the town’s history. There were going to be many questions he would want answered after this, and he was sure the rest of the town would, too. If this got out, it would shake the very foundation of Riverdale, splintering it like the weeds growing out of sidewalk cracks that little children always try to avoid. As the truth settled into Betty’s bones, Jughead watched the last of the childlike innocence die from her eyes.

Perhaps he’d been too late all along. Too late to stop the corruption of innocence that began sowing its insidious seeds inside the soul of Betty Cooper back when they were in kindergarten and the other children told her not to play with someone as vile as him. Here it was, her final step into the empty and crushing reality he had always been a part of. It was world where there were no sweet mothers and doting fathers to tuck you into bed in a canopy fit for a princess. It was a world of drugs and pain and sin and a constant agony that eventually the heart grew numb to — with the exception of the sharpest stings.

Sin. What was the original sin of their story? Did it date all the way back to the Coopers and the Blossoms privitol murder? Was it Hal’s first step into adultery? Or was it the day Betty handed him back his flowers and begged him to never speak to her again? No one in Riverdale was unclean. It would be silly to think otherwise.

And yet, as the rain beat heavy down upon them and he watched the tears stream down her cheeks and the resolve settle on her shoulders, Jughead could not help but think what he saw before him was a heavenly being, sent down onto earth to right the wrongs that had been strung together in a chaotic tune. When the lightning cracked, she was bathed in a brilliant light, like a halo around her entire being.

“Even more the reason to march right on in there and ask what the hell is going on!” She stood a little straight and shook her head before turning away from them again and beginning her treck upwards.

Cheryl sighed and ran a hand through her dripping red hair. “Go on, loverboy, chase after her like some knight in shining armor before she does something stupid and gets herself hurt. I don’t mind being left alone with the more competent of the minor Serpents while we catch up.”

With her approval — not that he was sure when he started needing her highness Cheryl Blossom’s approval to do things — Jughead moved as quickly as he could through the sinking mud and wet grass. Not far away, thunder cracked, striking a maple tree. Its leaves burst into a blaze that would have put a burning Joshua tree to shame. For a moment he stood rooted in awe. It wasn’t until he heard Betty cry out at the door blocking her path that he remembered his mission.

He reached her just in time to watch the door fly open. They entered the grand foyer, a trail of dirt and rain in their path so intense it would have surely given Grandma Cooper a heart attack if she were still around to bear witness to it. Betty spun, her eyes frantic as she searched for any indication of her father, or Clifford Blossom’s, presence. There was a rumble from the ever angry clouds.

And then a single gunshot rung out and reverberated throughout the hallowed halls of Thornhill Manor. Deafening. Deadily. Final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So......sorry about the cliff hanger? (I'm not)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @tory-b
> 
> NEXT: Chapter 14: Closure


	14. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give me massive thank you in the end notes, so for now I give you the final chapter of Sticky Sweet Serenade.

That night went by in a blur. When Hal’s body hit the cold, hard ground, all I could hear was the sound of Betty’s screams as she fell to her knees, hands soaked in blood as she tried to stop the wound in her father’s chest. He bled out on her silk gown and an antique rug while Clifford Blossom dangled from the rafters above him. It was the first time I had ever seen a corpse, though unfortunately not the last. Toni held Cheryl at the door, keeping her from seeing the gruesome sight in the parlor, holding her tight and begging her not to look. I had no such luxury with Betty, who batted my hands away at every attempt.

When the sheriff arrived to find four blood-stained teenagers huddled together, there were questions that had to be answered. Betty was nearly incoherent. She stared out the window of the cop car, wrapped in my jacket, as quiet as her sister had become. I answered the questions as best I could, explaining the long-running plot, the drugs, the adultery, the convoluted web of lies. A skewed sense of loyalty kept my dad’s name out of it, but eventually there would be questions about him, too. I left those for Alice Cooper to answer. The blood was just as much hers to swim in as it was ours.

They tested our hands for gunshot residue as a formality, but the only thing they would fine was the remainder of Hal’s life. 

The vision of the dying man’s face would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. Some nights I would wake up and hear him wheezing his last few breaths as Betty’s tears soaked into his skin, those blue eyes going cold. I would turn to my wife and pull her close, whispering sweet things to try and ease the demons no amount of therapy could ever fully chase back into the closet.

We spent hours at the police station that night. When Betty finally spoke she didn’t stop, not until Attorney McCoy burst through the door and reprimanded Keller for holding a young, traumatized girl hostage. There were whispers of court-mandated therapy, but they were quickly drowned out by the uproar from outside, screaming for answers. The Lodges were among the onlookers, but it didn’t take more than a few shoves for Veronica to make her way back to Betty’s side. She held her best friend tightly, soaking up the sobs with her Hermes dress. Whatever it was that compelled the Lodges to be merciful that night had to do with the powerful force of their petite daughter.

As the investigation dragged along, more and more of the Coopers’ less-than-savory dealings were brought to light. A jingle-jangle ring created on the Southside to be run by the Serpents all around town, with a certain newspaper owner keeping the whispers hushed from his side. Of course, the later was all speculation, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together when they were laid out for you clear as day in Hal’s study. With each document pulled, the light in Betty’s eyes dimmed until it was nothing but a quiet whisper of what it used to be.

Most of our time was spent at Thistlehouse. Her mother didn’t ask many questions; she didn’t have the heart, the time, or the energy to, as she watched over her mute daughter and tried to keep the press at bay while dealing with her own grief for the husband who had ruined her. The tiny walls and hidden nature of the place made it the perfect escape. We didn’t do anything but sit most nights, sit and listen to the old radio or the television, though I never dared to turn on the news.

I would try to imagine what it would be like for her, the pain of holding your parent while they died. In the aftermath of that pondering, I wrote FP a long letter, one where I asked to make amends one day. The white envelope sits unopened in the drawer of my nightstand now, a long forgotten relic of a night whose anniversary we spend at Mr. Cooper’s grave with our daughter. Betty doesn’t tell her about the pain her father caused. She doesn’t tell her about the hurt the Cooper’s brought or the aftermath of the bloody affair. She only tells her that she has the prettiest blue eyes, the same eyes as the man in the grave.

We leave flowers by the headstone and Betty says a little prayer that Virginia can’t quite keep up with. Cheryl calls and asks how we are, because a sort of tentative friendship had formed between us all in the aftermath. She and Toni moved away, as far away as they could, to the west coast, where they live a comfortable life in artistic bliss surrounded by Toni’s photography. They send notes and gifts but they never come back. I don’t blame them.

Most days I’m not sure why we stay in Riverdale. I’m not sure why I sit at a desk in a house where my father-in-law was murdered two doors over, in a room that stays forever locked between a heavy door and an iron key. I’m not sure why I watch my wife dance with the same vultures her parents did in the maple syrup business as she fights back the whispers of anarchy and drug dealings.  _ It’s messy _ , is how I answer the people who ask. Like Archie, who has long since packed up his things and made a name for himself in New York City, where he and Veronica have a quiet, albeit odd understanding of one another.

Ghosts haunt the halls of Thornhill even now. Some nights the house trembles with fears and Betty rushes to our daughter’s room to make sure all is well. Some days you can see the visage of Clifford Blossom in the walls or hear Hal Cooper’s final scream of agony. You can smell the gunpowder in the air and taste the poison on your tongue. But you can also feel the happiness, the smiles and laughter and sunshine that have been brought in each day. We are not destined to walk the same paths as those before us. History does not have to repeat itself if we are wise enough to avoid it.

Instead of fear and worry my daughter gets affection and tenderness. She will never want for a place to live, a meal to eat, a home where she is loved. She will not hear whispers of frightening things and curses from drunks. The cemetery on the premise will serve as a reminder to all of us of the lessons that can be learned from the past. This is not a place, not anymore, where sin lingers under the floorboards and blackens our hearts.

In the aftermath of that night, my mother called and asked me to go live with her in Toledo, where I would be safe, away from whatever demons are locked up in the Riverdale underground. I could have said yes — any sane person would. There were already whispered threats about my father being an unfit parent. Even without Polly’s testimony, it was clear he had done something wicked to involve himself in the Coopers’ business. But I stayed for her. I stayed for the woman I love because I had already given so much of myself to her. A few more years were nothing.

Or maybe I stayed for my roots, buried so deep in the soil that ripping them up would mean carving out my very soul simply to part from this place. I had given so much of myself to the world around me that leaving felt impossible. We’re all a tangled mess of contrived familial ties and centuries-old grudges, linked at the very start like a concrete block we’ll never break away from.

This is a story that will never get published. I think I’ve always known that in my heart. But it is a story worth telling, at least to give to the people who come after me so they know what runs through them and to learn from the mistakes we could not.

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Jughead closed the door with a thud, trying to juggle the plates of food Mrs. Cooper had brought to them. Betty was still refusing to leave the confines of their comfortable home, even if it was her mother who so desperately wanted to see her. There had been the smallest moment of hesitation when Jughead had shared with Alice his current residential status on their property, but his devotion to her daughter — and his love of her cooking, it was always a nice ego boost — kept him comfortably living inside of Thistlehouse. Occasionally, she would come by and drop off food to make sure that they were fed and ask how her daughter was doing. 

_ Okay. Figuring things out _ , is all he would ever have to tell her. It was an answer that left her content enough.

Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure how truthful he was being. Betty was eating, breathing, laughing even on occasion, but something had died in her heart and he wasn’t sure how to resurrect it. The death of her father, and the knowledge of his business, had come as such a blow to her that he could see it in her eyes. Everything around her was crumbling. Every reality, every truth, everything her parents had ever told her was being called into question. There were seventeen years worth of answers to dig through and no end in sight.

He sat the food down on the coffee table, pulling it out of the lunchbox Mrs. Cooper had packed it in for them. It was a special treat from Pop’s, complete with one of Betty’s favorite milkshakes. She stared at it for a minute before popping the lid and taking a bite with her plastic spoon.

For the most part, Betty had been living in his old flannels, washing them as need be to keep them both from smelling terrible. School called and she never answered. On days that Jughead went, he was bombarded with questions from anyone and everyone. Veronica was worried, Archie was worried, Cheryl was even worried — though the latter’s concern came in the form of artfully crafted half insults and baked goods hidden in his locker. Their kindness was something he reported back to Betty, who simply nodded her head.

The rest of the school was not so kind. The rumors he heard alone made him sick to his stomach, accusing her of being involved in the jingle jangle ring and using her role as Maple Princess to keep the eyes off of them. It was a strange turn of events. Most of his life, it had been him who was the brunt of school’s harsh realities and harsher vocabulary. Like water off a duck’s back, their insults pooled at his feet, easily kicked into the nearest dumpster. But when he heard Reggie start in, he felt a deep twist in his stomach. If Veronica hadn’t gotten to him first, Jughead might have broken the guy’s jaw. As it stood, the entire student body was well aware not to mess with Miss Lodge and her right hook.

“Jug,” her voice was quiet as she picked at her french fries. “I have a question for you.”

“Dangerous, but I’ll allow it.”

Betty smiled. It was all about the small victories in this time of crisis. 

“Be honest with me. How bad are things at school?”

He grimaced and finished taking the bite he had started. It gave him a few moments to think about his answer as carefully as he could before answering, “It’s not great. But nothing is ever great. I think things are starting to die down because of the investigation being wrapped up. You should come back soon.”

“I’m not sure I can. I know it’s weak of me, but I’m scared. I’m so scared of what will happen, or what they’ll end up saying. I spent my entire life being popular, being someone people looked up to and thought highly of. I’ve never been anything other than Miss Maple Princess, heir to the Cooper maple syrup industry. And now I’m Elizabeth Cooper, daughter of a drug lord, niece to a murderer, part of the great Cooper-Blossom lineage of familicide.”

“Betty, look at me.” Tenderly, Jughead reached out, cupping her cheeks and planting a sweet kiss on her lips. “You are none of those things. You aren’t the Maple Princess or Elizabeth Cooper. You’re you. You’re Betty. And I love Betty, so you should, too. Because Betty is the little girl who brought me crayons and was my only friend when things were terrible. Betty is beautiful. No matter what anyone else says, as long as you can hold your head up high and feel proud of who you are, at the end of the day that’s all that matters.”

“Juggie…”

She cried on him for awhile. He didn’t bother to count the time ticking by or pay attention the food getting cold. It had been like this on and off since her father's death, interrupted only by the occasional visitation by the court-ordered psychologist who told them what they already knew — this was traumatizing and they would likely be experiencing the pain well into their adulthood. Whenever she cried, Jughead couldn’t quite tell what she was crying for. Herself. Her mother. Her sister. Her father. The whole sorry state of Riverdale. All he knew was that he ached to make things better for her.

Things were not great anywhere in the Cooper household. He rarely saw Alice outside of their food exchange visits, but when he dared to venture up to Thornhill in search for a change of clothes for Betty, he had caught her in the room where Hal had been shot, curled up on the bare, wood floor in her nightgown and sobbing. It was a site so haunting it made his heart ache.

Polly was faring no better. She had relapsed after her treatments and she sat silent as ever, staring out the window and braiding her hair. Sometimes she would write him a note, asking about Betty, and he would take a moment of his day to tell her about her little sister. Once, he had been entrusted with bringing her a nightlight and an old stuffed bear. The gifts had eased her worried mind--at least for a little while. 

“Will things ever be okay again?” Betty asked, shaking him back to the present.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But we have to hope they will be or what’s even the point? I’m not usually the optimistic sort, but Betty, if we don’t hope, if we don’t look at the future and imagine what it’s going to be like, then there’s no purpose for today. You can’t lose sight of that. Not now and not ever.”

She sighed against his chest, tracing little circles over his heart. “You’re wise beyond your years. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“No, but I am a whole two months older than you, so maybe I know what I’m talking about. Promise you’ll think about it, about what I said?”

“I will. And I am. I think you’re right about it all. Don’t let it go to your head but I can’t… I don’t want to keep living like this anymore. I’m miserable every time I wake up, Juggie, living in this constant state of fear where I feel like I know something terrible is going to happen and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Maybe there is something I can do, though. Maybe I can make a change.”

She sat up and he saw it again, the glimmering flicker of hope and light and passion that he always admired so much. He smiled. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

“A loose one. Nothing too concrete, but I have a share of the company. With Daddy gone, that means there’s only three of us. Polly’s… sick so I doubt she’ll be around to run the company. So it’s just me and Mom, but I can talk to her. She’ll be on board with this. I’ll make our business better, above board, no drugs, no illegality, no affairs. It’s all exactly how it should be. I’ll work my ass off. If I can keep the investors at bay long enough, or mom can, and then I’ll be able to think up something, some good sort of meeting where I can present to them about how I’m going to get everything back on track for the better. This business was founded on legitimately selling maple syrup.”

“And murder.”

She smacked his chest with a glare. “I’m serious, Jug. We don’t need to turn to drugs like jingle jangle to keep our business running. We just need to diversify with what we have. Maple-flavored drinks are everyone's favorite. We could get into business with a distillery and make maple lager or maple wine. The possibilities are endless! All we have to do is reach out and take them. I’m not saying it won't be a lot of hard work, it will be, but we have the resources to back it up and we can work our butts off until we get it done. 

“This isn't the legacy I want to pass onto my children one day. I’m going to give them something to be proud of, something I can show them and tell them that I did with my own two hands. That I worked until I had something to call ours and I did it without cheats and shortcuts and drug money.”

“That’s the Betty Cooper I know and love.” 

All wired up, she pulled him into a hungry kiss, smiling a proper smile for the first time in days. It warmed his heart and made his skin buzz with excitement. This was the start of something beautiful — he could feel it at the very core of his being. Her optimism was intoxicating and infectious. Soon enough, all of the Cooper empire would catch it, and they’d be thriving like they always had before.

They ate dinner together, her notebook open between them, and began to plan all the steps she’d have to take moving forward. He researched while she fed him fries and scribbled code that didn’t make sense to him in the pages of her spiral bound. They worked well together — perfectly in synch. Before midnight, they had a loose proposal drafted and a few open Word documents and PowerPoints that they would use at a later date, or maybe in the morning when they both had a little more energy. It was poetry in motion to watch Betty work, and he would do it again and again for the rest of his life if he could.

“I have another question. I know, dangerous, haha, you’re so funny.” She rolled her eyes and flipped open to another page. Despite her charade, he could tell she was growing a bit anxious under his gaze.

“What is it? No laughing or jokes I think are funny this time, cross my heart.”

“I just… wanted to know why you stuck with me through all of this. I was horribly cruel to you for a long time growing up, Jug. I was mean and you never, ever deserved the kind of treatment I gave you but you took it and then when I needed your help you opened up to me again. I just can’t think of anyone else who would do that. I don’t get how you don’t hold a grudge against me.”

Jughead sighed and allowed himself a moment to think. The answer to her questions were much more complex than he had the brain power to handle this early in the morning, but he owed it to her to at least try to explain his rationale. Maybe he even owed it to himself.

“It’s easy to explain by saying that I love you. I’ve always loved you. In part, that’s the answer. Ever since we were little I carried that love for you and let it grow however it wanted. But I think it’s because I knew, deep down, that there was someone good inside you. I kept catching glimpses and flickers of it, something beautiful and kind that you were trying to hide. And I’d always remember it from school, too. I remember how sad you looked when you gave me back the flowers, and I always hoped there was something else, some other reason. It’s cliche. Probably stupid and naive too. But I knew there was a lot more to you than what you were showing everyone else. And I related to that. Two kindred spirits.”

“You, you have a beautiful soul, Jughead Jones, no matter how hard you try to hide it behind your grumpy facade.”

“Don’t go telling people my secrets.” He leaned in and kissed her sweetly, allowing them a moment to melt together before pulling away with a gentle pop.

Before Jughead could pull her back down for another kiss he so desperately wanted, Betty sprung to her feat. “I’ll be right back. I just had another brilliant idea.”

“Well, well, well, aren’t we full of those tonight? I await with baited breath to hear what your amazing wit has crafted for us now.”

A few minutes later, she came stumbling down the stairs, holding an open cardboard box in her grasp. It threatened to slip free a few times before she finally settled it with a thud on the kitchen counter. Jughead dared to look inside, only to be properly perplexed when all he saw was an old, portable record player dating back to a distant era, no doubt from back when the first Cooper matriarch still lived in Thistlehouse.

Betty pulled it out of the box with excitement and wiggled it until she found the cord to plug it into the wall. Inside the box were a few records from artists he didn’t recognize. Lucky for him, his girlfriend was on the hunt with a purpose, pulling one of the large vinyls from its sleeve with the utmost care.

“My grandmother, she was a nasty woman, but she’d always play this song whenever I was feeling down. I’m not sure why. I think she said it was her husband’s favorite. I never met Grandpa, but I’m told he was a lot like dad.” Her voice went tight and she fought back the tears with a smile. “I thought… maybe I could listen to it again. With you. Start making some new memories to the music so it doesn’t make me so sad anymore. So, Jughead Jones, will you dance with me?”

It was hard to deny such a pretty face, especially one that looked so sad, but a part of him, the teenage boy still living in the brain of an aged man, was afraid to embarrass himself. “I don’t really dance. I’ve got two left feet and I’ll end up breaking one, if not more, of yours.”

“Come on, Jug. I’m not asking you for a lot. Just one dance and we’ll never dance again.”

(It was a lie.)

“Fine. One. That’s it.”

Betty squealed in delight and put the record on, letting it spin on the turntable until the music slowly began to drift from the dusty old speakers. It jumped in a few places near the beginning, scratches from lack of care, but they found their rhythm and began to sway. Before he could stop himself, Jughead found himself being pulled in by the gentle sounds and lovely words. A lazy comfort fell over him then. Nothing could stop them in this moment, and the future didn’t look so bleak.

They danced the night away to a sweet serenade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you List:  
> 1) Kayla @lilibug--xx who beta'd all but the finale two chapters and was absolutely wonderful to me and all my worries on this fic  
> 2) Lyss @bettscoopr who beta'd the final two chapters and allowed me to cry to her about the ending of a fic.  
> 3) Katie and Katie @betty-cooper and @bugggghead who encouraged me to keep writing this fic when there were moments I wanted to quit.  
> 4) All of you who have stuck with me for 14 chapters. I know this story has a bit of a different way of being written, with the journals and Jughead's excerpts at the beginning. I really appreciate it <3
> 
> You've made it this far so I'll let you know something:  
> I'm going to be posting 2 WIPs soon! Tentative titles are 111 Elm Street and 101 Ways to Cope (or not) With Being a Post Grad

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to any sort of feedback (if it's constructive criticism that's okay too just be nice).
> 
> follow me on tumblr @tory-b (I don't bite much!)


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